Dragon Keeper
by Astrid Goes For A Spin
Summary: The dragons are acting weird, no doubt about it. In order not to scorch ALL four Triwizard Champions, something has to be done...and that something is Hiccup. A faulty Portkey, a few weeks at Hogwarts...and he'll never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**ADOPTED. I have adopted this story from Colorlikewhoa, the original idea was ALL HERS, believe me. **

**Now, onto me. I've rewritten the first part so I can have things happen in later chapters (believe me, I'm actually finishing this one) and I have a lot in store for Hiccup, Toothless, ect. Astrid will show up in the end, and Hiccup WILL meet the Golden Trio (the FIRST HTTYD/HP crossover on here to do so!) so stay with me. Have fun!**

**(When I refer to the 'nightmare' analogy, I mean like in a movie when they focus on the face and spin out to show the person - unfortunatley, Hiccup does not have that perspective at the time, and he, at this moment, has NO clue what a movie is. XD Read on! **

**And review! I want to know what you think of it. =) **

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><p>I really was minding my business, seriously. I was. I wasn't doing anything, to anyone when I left. You know, more than usual.<p>

Well…if you count touching the boot, being sucked about a zillion miles away…actually, I think I'll start from the top.

My name's Hiccup. I used to be the (rather dramatic title) 'Hope and Heir' to my tribe – that is, until I saved them all from a huge, monstrous (bad word choice, sorry) dragon we now get to call the Red Death. Of course, I started the whole thing by making best friends with a Night Fury – hmn. I don't really want to go into it, so I'll just assume you know these details of my life. That's highly improbable, obviously, but…you know. All you care about at the moment is that Toothless is my pet dragon.

Now, going back to what I was saying: a few weeks after our little Boneknapper adventure, when the air was cold but it wasn't snowy yet (very soon, though) was when it happened.

I was walking in the woods, playing hide-and-seek with Toothless. This was a _very_ stupid idea. At first, Toothless didn't want to play (because 'play' for me is another version of 'smack into trees, fall on rocks, and sprain muscles I've never even heard of before') but once I proved I could stand up for more than five minutes without stumbling (a new record – even _before_ I got the prosthetic leg) he really got into it.

If you haven't picked up on this already, Toothless is black, and the deep, dark forests of Berk are _very_ good camouflage for him.

I sighed.

Man, I wished _I _wasn't the seeker.

But really, playing anything with Toothless was pretty hopeless. He won at _everything._ Especially since he's big, strong, fast, and can breathe fire. And can smell me, and – well, let's just say he's superiorly gifted. The only thing he can't do is fly – I have to help control the replacement tailfin I built him when I shot him down in fall.

_Anyway_ – (I didn't think it was possible to distract myself so much) I was banging into things and having an overall _magnificent_ time _not_ finding Toothless.

Yipee.

And then I fell for the fourth time (usually when I fall, Toothless catches me, but then again – _so_ into Hide and Seek, he wasn't paying much attention). This once, it actually really hurt. My skinny torso smashed into the ground, and all the breath was knocked out of me for a minute.

I gasped for a second, trying to return oxygen to my lungs, and pushed myself up. I frowned. In my little falling-down episode, I'd managed to get myself into a bush.

Now, when I say 'bush', I don't mean some scrubby little thing (that I recently learned existed) that you can see straight through.

When I say 'bush' I mean a bunch of leaves, branches, and whatever else packed into the space surrounding the person who has just fallen into the bush.

Yay.

I tried to sit up, but if I did I would have probably sheared my face in eight different ways. I leaned back down, attempting to push myself out.

Scowling, I ducked my head, clear of the thick, heavy branches. I shook off the dirt and brushed my shirt down. Then I got to my feet and almost had a heart attack.

In front of me was a boot the size of a Monstrous Nightmare's snout. In other words, _humongous._ I could have used it as a bed a year ago…okay, fine. This year, too. Probably.

I didn't even think you could _make _a boot that big. For what reason? It wasn't like ours, but it did share the same general shape – but this one was made of some sort of leather, with laces the size of rigging.

I gaped. Really, there was nothing else for it, except clamp back on my strong urge to go inspect it.

That didn't last long.

Finally, after looking both ways, with no one jumping out with a sword screaming at me to back off, I edged closer. From a foot away (I really don't know how I missed it in the first place) I could tell that there were no footprints, leading to or away from the spot.

It was like…the boot had just…appeared.

I reached out, my fingers just barely brushing the hard leather. I turned my head. "Toothless? Did you see this? C'mere, bud!" A blue caught my eye, and, panicked, I whipped back to the boot, thinking Toothless had set it on fire. "N- wha?" It was pulsing, glowing, and as I watched, I realized my hand was stuck fast.

I tried to wrench it off, planting my feet in the dirt, but I just slid closer. I pushed against it with my other hand, and (stupid of me, huh?) then couldn't get that one off, either. I fell forward, losing my balance, my whole front glued to the boot. Beautiful.

I was self-pitying so much that I didn't even do anything when it flashed once, white, and everything disappeared.

My vision clouded over in bright colors (somehow, black was one of them…) and there was a sickening sensation as the world around me spun.

Then I dropped to the ground, (thankfully separated from the boot once more) and actually didn't even see it. Instead, I was lying on the grass, staring up.

You know those nightmares where you see yourself, and your vision spins out: slowly revealing more and more of the landscape surrounding the body?

It was exactly like that.

I sat up slowly, wondering _what exactly that boot was_, and noise exploded all around me.

Shrieks and screams that sounded like tearing metal (the unconventional way), thrashing, huge limbs flung against thick wooden bars.

Wait – _wooden?_

Fire? The heat crackled all around me. Who in Thor's name would put something _firebreathing _in a wooden cage?

Firebreathing?

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I wasn't in Berk anymore, that was for sure.

And the four huge creatures trying desperately to escape, belted with leather to the ground, collapsing even as I watched –

It wasn't possible.

It couldn't be –

_Dragons?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello there! I promise, during my suspiciously long absence I WAS WORKING ON THIS.**

**Which explains to you why it's extra long. Actually, it's a hundred words longer than _Independence._ **

**Yes, I finally came up with a relevant name to this story that is NOT Colorlikewhoa's! **

**And so! Hiccup meets Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Charlie Weasley, and we learn of his task. Leave a review at the bottom, the button's always hungry. **

**A reason this chapter took so long is because I wanted to get him all the way finished with the whole 'meeting Dumbledore' part (which everyone knew had to come eventually) and it had to be massively long to do so. Another reason is that I got an ASTONISHING amount of story alerts! Thank you SO MUCH! You don't know how famous I feel! XD. **

**But Hiccup made me finish the chapter (read: writing almost all of it) in three days because he scowls at me in the back of my mind if I'm doing something else on the computer while I should be writing him.**

**Also: I have a challenge. ***BEFORE*** my next chapter comes out, (...not very soon...) if you can guess -CORRECTLY - I will send you a confirmation PM - why I made such a big deal of Hiccup feeling self-conscious about his leg in this one, I'll give you a Hogwarts student in the next one. I promise you get to run into Hiccup...I can't promise he won't snap at you. =) **

**Read on!**

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><p>For some time I stood there, watching. In shock.<p>

Now the _really big question_ of '_Where do I happen to be?_' was overshadowed by 'Who would cage dragons?'

I mean, they're really dangerous and everything if you're a_t war with them_, but these dragons seemed to be at a serious disadvantage.

There were four of them, and despite each being about fifteen feet tall, they were being easily controlled by what looked like people running around their feet.

They looked like small, helpless shadows darting forward and back, but then one cried, "Stunning spells on the count of three!" Each one reached into their clothing and then the night was lit with dazzling, glaring, bloody-sunset colored lights. They arced from the people and connected with the four dragons like a million points of fire, setting their scales aglow.

And then one wobbled. It began to sag to the side and fell almost directly at my feet. I rushed forward, holding on to the wooden bars, not even thinking to look if anyone was watching.

It looked like a Nadder, in a way. It was silvery blue with streaks and starbursts of yellowy color on its hide, and very large; almost the size of the forge. It was sleek and long, heavily muscled, with light, wide wings and a birdlike face. It really did look like a Deadly Nadder, but was different enough to be an entirely new species.

I squinted at the name labeled on the cage: SWEDISH SHORT SNOUT.

Huh.

I stretched my arm forward as far as I could, trying to reach its face, to stroke it, calm it, and maybe find out what had happened to it. But no matter how hard I pushed toward the dragon, my arm wasn't long enough.

Then someone yelled, "What in Merlin's name are you doing? Get back!" Instinctively, I jumped away, snatching my hand back as if the dragon was about to take my arm off. Which of course it wasn't, considering how unconscious it seemed.

Wasn't that a little overprotective? Why would my safety matter so much to someone I'd never met?

I hardly had time to think of that before the man strode up to me, grabbed me by the shoulder, and whipped me around.

"Charlie, get over here!" demanded the man, almost knocking me over. He was at least two feet taller than me, merely a fierce shadow in the flickering light. "Ah, it's just a kid."

Another man, stocky (but still taller than me – would I _always _be the shortest one?) with astonishingly flaming red hair marched up from behind him. "John, I think you should go help with the Fireball; and I need you to keep an eye on Hagrid. He's getting a little…starry-eyed over the dragon eggs and if someone's not there to count them we'll be missing a few."

The air of command the man had over his fellow was impressive. I raised my eyebrows as he sized me up.

I figured he would ask what I was doing. If I was trying to get myself killed, if I thought it was some kind of joke, if I thought I was some arrogant snob doing something stupid.

But instead, he asked very casually, "You're not from up at the school, right?"

I blinked in surprise. "Um…no," I said cautiously, not knowing how to answer. _School? _What was a school?

He placed a calloused and burned hand on my shoulder, steered me away from the dragons, and said, "Let's take a walk."

I followed.

We trailed around the edge of the black forest, keeping away from the shadows and the dragons in sight.

"So," Charlie said, seriously. "I'd suppose you'd be in Gryffindor, poking the dragon like that?" he glanced at me quickly as if trying to see how I would react. I looked down at what I was wearing – did I really look like that much of an outsider? (In case you're wondering, yeah, I did). My clothes weren't anywhere near as conspicuous as what mostly everyone else wore in my village, but I guess I stuck out.

Then I noticed what he was wearing. It looked like….robes? Of some sort. In the pitch color of the night there was no telling what color they were, but he was wearing thick work boots and loose sort of leggings that didn't cling to him.

My first question would be, "What are you _wearing_?" but, luckily I remembered in time that Toothless wasn't with me and that I could be easily overpowered; sometimes having a smart mouth would probably get me killed – something I really should have learned in the first few years of my life.

Which is really nice to know and remember when you're worried about much more important things. Like where you are, and who's trying to force answers out of you in an albeit way.

"Oh….yeah," I nodded in accordance. But I could tell he knew I was lying to him: first of all, I could never keep a (blatantly obvious) secret (but we knew that already) and lying/truth telling really wasn't my thing. Actually, I really shouldn't be the bearer of news, good, bad, or false.

"Listen, kid. I know you're not from Hogwarts, but I want to know who you are, right now."

His gaze had suddenly turned intense, and I squirmed uncomfortably under its harsh pressure.

"I'm Hiccup," I said awkwardly. He let out a short bark of laughter, then reached into his pocket.

Despite everything, I leaned forward in suspenseful curiosity (yeah, stupid, I know) as he drew out – a rod. Or a stick. Or something wooden. Then he pressed it up against my throat.

I'd never felt more stupid, idiotic than then, standing there, held up by a man with a stick. But still, I could feel the power coursing through it, unlike almost anything I'd felt before – the thing was just full of it. It was almost like the way a dragon gets when it's just about to flame, brimming with energy and adrenaline.

Then I realized the…lightning-like power in the stick wasn't actually from the stick. It was from the man itself. It was a…conductor of sorts.

Amazed, I almost reached up to feel it when I remembered what the sticks had done to the dragons. I was even tinier; what could they do to _me_?

Even if he killed me, who would care? My dad? Yeah, probably. Astrid would cry…Toothless – I couldn't think about that. Toothless _needed _me, and I couldn't screw up something that could get me killed.

My hand dropped to my side as the end of the stick lit up.

I'm sure my face was glowing in wonder and fear as sparkly, pure white light as I caught my breath. But in the reflected light, Charlie looked puzzled, almost afraid.

"You've never seen a wand before?"

_Wand._ So that's what it was. Quickly, I shook my head. No.

He took it away from my face and raised it into the air. At first I thought it was a signal to get the others and crouched (which I'd really prefer not to do…for obvious reasons) and promptly toppled over.

The ground was hard, with the beginnings of frost in the grass and firm dirt. I got back up, sighing and brushing myself off, to see Charlie staring at me. For a moment I didn't know what he was looking at (I mean, it's not _so _unusual to duck and cover, is it?) and then I noticed his eyes were centered on my feet.

I didn't need his sympathy. I scowled and pulled my left leg close to me, wishing there was some way to hide the prosthesis, feeling self-conscious for the first time in months.

When he spoke a moment later, his voice was gentler. "Oh, Merlin. What happened here?" He sounded almost sorry, sad for me.

But he didn't know me, so I didn't understand why he should care.

"You mentioned a wand," I ventured cautiously. Charlie spun it between his fingers casually, but made sure it didn't point anywhere. I wasn't sure if it could go off by itself, but it seemed plausible.

"Are you magic?" I laughed, the question caught me so off guard. But Charlie looked dead serious, awaiting an answer.

I thought for a moment. If dragons were real, couldn't magic exist too? What else could have caused the amazing red lights or made a stick so dangerous?

"Uh…no," I said. At least, I didn't think I was magic. After all, I'd never made anything explode or shatter into pieces – okay. I'm going to rephrase that. After all, I'd never made anything explode or shatter into pieces without touching it in some way first. Besides, wouldn't magical people be healthy? None of the people in the distance looked maimed or crippled at all, unlike me.

Charlie looked even more intrigued. He wrapped a massive hand (smaller than my dad's, though) around my arm and began leading me. "I'm going to take you up to the castle. Something's going on here, and you shouldn't be part of it."

Irritation hit me quickly. "Do you think I _want _to be here? I just showed up! I wasn't doing anything at all!"

Charlie ignored my protests but pushed me along ahead of him. Unable to keep up, I stumbled and almost dragged him down, too.

After that he had second thoughts about pulling me places.

"What happened?" he repeated. "Were you born that way?"

I snorted, never even hearing of anything like it. He seemed perfectly at ease with the idea, though, so I considered it.

Could I get away with the lie, or should I tell him the truth?

He would probably know if I was lying (we've been over this), especially how clumsy I was with the leg. If I'd been used to it (more) I probably would've been better on it. But if I told him the truth, he wouldn't believe me anyway.

But I really didn't feel like explanations.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm just a little wobbly. You know. Because. I. Um…" I fanatically tried to think up something possible to why I couldn't walk right if I'd been doing it all my life. "Incapable…"

Charlie laughed now, and it wasn't hard or frightening, but a pleasant, strong, booming sound that put me in mind of home. Charlie would have made an excellent Viking if he could squish the sentimentality.

"You don't have to lie. I guess you don't want to talk about it, and that's fine. But," he said sharply. "If there's anything that wizards hate, it's someone who tricked them."

_Wizards. _I carefully filed this important piece of information into my brain. _Thank you, Charlie, for giving me the heads up on yet _another _way to get in trouble. _

Charlie's stride slowed and he looked sideways at me again. I fidgeted, wondering what was going to happen now.

"But what's your real name?"

"Hiccup," I repeated. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third."

He rolled his eyes (but I guess he figured a kid my age wouldn't lie about his _name_ if there were other things to lie about) and introduced himself, sticking out a hand. "Charlie Weasley."

I stared at it. What was I supposed to do?

He saw me looking at it awkwardly and supplied, "When someone holds out a hand, you shake it. As a greeting."

"I knew that."

Cautiously, I held out my hand, and he gripped it, swinging it up and down. It felt strange, like my shoulder was about to pop out of its socket. I pulled away as soon as I could, hugging my arm close to my body.

We started to walk, and I realized Charlie Weasley was walking much slower than before, even though I had no problems keeping up with him when he was questioning me. Stubbornly, I quickened my pace and left him lagging behind for a moment.

_Ha. That's for feeling sympathy for a Viking._

"Why are the dragons in cages?" the question slipped out unintentionally.

Charlie sighed. "Because it's more than likely we wouldn't be able to control them if they weren't."

"Control?"

"We need to make sure they don't hurt themselves. Or us," he added as an afterthought.

"So you knocked them out with magic light," I said drily. Charlie laughed again.

"They're for the Triwizard Tournament."

"Clearly." Since he wasn't threatening me anymore, I felt that I could talk more openly with him – and it was gratifying that someone actually showed appreciation for my jokes.

Obviously he felt there was some explaining he needed to do, because he went on. "It hasn't been played in a long time. It's this big competition-"

"Really." Because I didn't understand that from _tournament. _I bet I could guess how many players there were, too. It didn't take a genius to figure it out, and if there was anything that _Vikings_ hate, it's someone who insults them, however indirectly. (You know, since _we _at least, moved past the whole _'dragon' _issue.)

"That used to take place every five years – Durmstrang and Beauxbatons-" in the midst of the explanation, I had a sudden curiosity as to how it was spelled – "Would send a champion – one of the students to Hogwarts, or Hogwarts and Durmstrang would send one to Beauxbatons, etcetera." _Etcetera. _Now _that _was a word I'd like to know how to spell; especially since it wasn't around on Berk.

"They'd get chosen by a magic cup, the Goblet of Fire." Even if I could accept the whole 'magical wands' bit, I was finding 'magic cups' and tournaments a little hard to swallow. My shoulders dropped in disappointment that he was still leading me on.

Who was he taking me to, anyway? Or was he just going to lock me up? He said he was going to take me to the castle, he didn't say I was a _guest…_Or student, as he might put it.

"Then, they'd face three dangerous tasks and whoever won, or, really, survived," I winced.

"Wonderful."

Charlie chuckled. Did this man never stop laughing? Or maybe – maybe he just didn't keep all his thoughts bottled up inside like Vikings.

"If they won, they'd get fame and fortune."

"And it's going on this year. The modesty pageant."

"Right. That's why it's strange, though." Charlie paused, as if trying to decide whether he should continue. "Hogwarts has got two champions this year."

_Tri_wizard – two from Hogwarts, one from each of the other schools – four? Triwizard Tournament, with _four _wizards? No wonder Charlie thought to explain it to me.

"OI! Hagrid!" Charlie suddenly rushed forward, leaving me behind.

I scowled. That was for my trick before; and like he'd said (I _really _needed to start listening) apparently wizards hated being tricked.

Oh, well.

They hadn't met me yet.

I followed Charlie up to the dragon cages, which were no longer lit by flames and blazing heat, instead, the only light was from the half-moon, which seemed clear here, and bright.

Almost as much as at home.

"Hagrid! What are you doing? Didn't I tell you?"

I almost fell down in shock. As it was, I wobbled for a few seconds, staring _up._

A man _taller than my father, and wider, too _was standing before us, looking very sheepish and very ashamed. He, Hagrid, I assumed, was at least four feet taller than my dad, and maybe twice as large.

I honestly didn't think that was possible.

But it _was._ He looked like a man, not a troll, or giant of sorts. He looked real, with a humungous overcoat and a very bushy, uncombed black beard that matched his hair exactly.

In short, he looked almost exactly like a Viking.

And then it hit me.

He was wearing _the boot._ The boot that had brought me here, the one the size of my _bed._

And it actually looked like it _fit._

This in itself was very discomfiting, that a man this huge could actually exist. And that somehow his boot could transport people from wherever to here.

Or maybe it did once? Maybe someone like Charlie set it up intentionally to take me from Berk to here for a reason?

Maybe it wasn't a mistake.

"I 'no," said Hagrid in an unimaginably deep voice that sounded like _home._ He was so much like a Viking that I was compelled to stand up straighter in front of him. "I jus'…" he sounded close to tears.

Okay…quick backtrack on the 'Viking' part. Maybe he had the height and looks, but if a scolding (by someone a fourth of his size) could make him cry, there was some serious problem. Mental instability?...

"Yeah, I know, Hagrid," Charlie said, patting his arm (which was the highest he could reach). "But they're not for anyone. You know they're for the champions. Be glad Olympe left before now."

He gave him a sly smile, and Hagrid gave a watery chuckle. "An' you said Norbert's gettin' on all right, up there in Romania?"

"Yeah. He's great, actually…"

The two men seemed to forget my presence as I stood beside them, listening. Hagrid, clearly was still upset about his…dragon? That Charlie had in Romania…for some reason…wherever that was. After a few minutes of reminiscence of what was _clearly _great times, I tried motioning with my eyes discreetly up to the castle, to absolutely no avail.

So there went diplomacy.

I coughed, hard, but they didn't notice. Dropping all pretenses, rolling my eyes, I said, "Can you just get on with it?"

Charlie laughed yet again, and took a step back from Hagrid. "The boy's right."

Hagrid started, obviously not having seen me before (what can I say? I'm _that_ small), and subjected me to a highly surprised stare. I was amazed by how warm his eyes were, even being black, surrounded by a fierce face, they were kind and gentle and I truly didn't think he would do anything to me. Or anyone, at all.

"I'm Hiccup," I said.

"Rubeus Hagrid," responded Hagrid. _Why does everyone underestimate my intelligence? _"Yep, Dumbledore's bin expectin' yeh."

So it _wasn't_ an accident! I came here on purpose. Well, not _my _purpose. Someone else's.

Great. Because everyone wants a one-legged, fourteen year old blacksmith.

"Well, I've got to get Hiccup up to the school," Charlie excused us. Briefly, he pushed me ahead to clear the area in the woods, and I wondered if we'd have the same problem again, but this time we walked quickly, effectively, and farther and farther uphill.

Charlie didn't talk anymore, and I took my cue from him. Slowly, something began to come into view –

"Yep. _That's_ Hogwarts."

'Hogwarts', the magic school, wasn't like a training ring….nope, it was a seven story stone _castle _on a cliff overlooking a lake, with a bunch of mismatched, dissymmetrical towers jutting up all over the place – it wouldn't have five or six students…more like a thousand.

My eyes opened wide, and I couldn't take it in all at once. Every few feet windows were lit, astonishingly bright and yellowy against the dark of the night.

It was _beautiful._

Unconsciously, I leaned my neck back to look at the shape of the castle against the stars. It looked like it…_belonged _there, so…so _free _and magnificent and _wild._

…Note to self…tell Dad about making houses out of rock…very intelligent.

Maybe _this _was why all these wizards thought I was so stupid…and now that I knew we could make rock buildings, (and hadn't) I _did _feel stupid.

_Village that gets attacked by fire-breathing reptiles all the time? _

_Make sure _every single building _is made out of wood. Check._

I paused, reached into my vest and grabbed for my notebook, standing still on a little hill facing the castle, holding it in my right hand while I tried to take in the whole castle in a glance. My left hand skimmed over the paper, documenting it.

Charlie looked back, slightly impressed, and I snapped it shut, tucked it in my pocket, and followed yet again.

The front doors were massive. Almost – almost, not quite – as big as the doors to the Mead Hall. They had intricate designs carved into them that hummed with power – power that maybe I, as a craftsman – could sense better than other people. Made of oak, they certainly set the standard on what the rest of the castle would be like.

So did it take both of us to open the doors? Did they do it by themselves? Did someone let us in?

No, no, and another no.

We went in a side door.

Anticlimactic, I know. I actually sighed in disappointment as Charlie Weasley led me to a little, unimpressive, plain wooden door a few feet away from the huge one. He didn't even knock, just pressed the tip of his wand to the door and it swung open.

Cautiously, I stepped ahead of him and winced, my leg making an obnoxious scraping noise against the flagstones. I looked back, and Charlie had a very strange look on his face.

I guess I'm just that naturally hilarious. Pain. Love it. Why not stick out more?

"C'mon. I'm going to take you to Professor Dumbledore. He's the Headmaster."

"Oh – okay! I'm coming!" Charlie had begun a brisk walk, almost like he knew this was his territory, the home stretch, almost the way Toothless and I would get for that one last dive before we landed for the day.

He grinned at me, and I had a feeling that I wouldn't like this 'Professor Dumbledore' person.

I was so intent on keeping up without looking like an idiot that I didn't pursue the moving portraits (it must have been a trick of the light) the door that talked back (I always knew Toothless damaged my ear irreparably that first day) and finally the revolving staircase that led up to the next level when Charlie gave it a password.

Too. Weird. For. Words.

As we spiraled upward, I was increasingly glad that I didn't get motion sick, while Charlie's face turned a little greener with each revolution. When we reached the top, I realized that there were voices coming from inside the office, as if people should actually be up at this hour…

There was a bronze eagle shaped thing hanging from the door and I immediately reached out to touch it, marveling in how it must have been made. Extremely fine craftsmanship –

Charlie Weasley coughed, and it slipped out of my fingers (because for some odd reason it was bolted by the eagle's wings to the door) and crashed against the wood.

I held my breath, fearful I'd done something really wrong, but Charlie picked up the eagle thing and rapped it – like knocking, I guess, but Vikings aren't into knocking very much. More like yell for you to get the door and run in anyway, no matter _what _you're doing…

All the voices stopped quickly, and the door opened of its own accord.

By now (considering the time) I wasn't caring very much about what weird magic was going on. It was frightening, somewhat, because I _knew _that I was the lower party this time.

"Come in, Charlie. Come in." The voice was wise and old, and when I came into the office (still awkwardly trying not to put my worst foot forward, in a sense) I saw that the voice was coming from a likely very wise and old man.

He looked like he was at least twice the age of Gothi (if that was even _possible_) so, in other words, nearing his one sixties. His shining silver beard and hair were past his waist, contrasting the deep purple and gold robes. He was tall, but not abnormally so (so, in other words, shorter than my dad) with sparkling blue eyes that put the rest of his appearance to shambles.

"Come, sit," he ordered, but gently, and I sat in the chair to the left, directly in front of him, Charlie on the other side. He leaned forward over his polished desk, the sleeves draping across the wood, fitting his fingers together and surveying me.

Feeling even more self-conscious, I tried not to lean back against the chair.

I inspected the room while he stared at me: it was _amazing._ The windows faced the east, where it was dark black in the sky. It had…soft fabric on some parts of the floor, and it matched the chair. There were little silver things with exquisite craftsmanship on little specific tables, and a golden bird that watched me the whole time.

"This is Hiccup, sir," Charlie began. "I found him by the dragon enclosures and he says he's not from the school."

I've never had a more triumphant introduction.

But the man was tactful enough that he didn't bat an eyelash at my name. Centuries of practicing good manners, I'd guess.

"Hello, Hiccup. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

I half-smiled. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock. The third," I added.

He nodded.

I was wrong. I really like this guy.

"And I assume that is all you have to tell me?" Dumbledore addressed Charlie, who nodded. "Then, if you would be so kind, Mr. Haddock and I have a lot to talk about…"

Charlie nodded again and let himself out without even looking at the bird, who I was unable to take my eyes off of.

There was a noise from across the desk. I started and turned, then realized Dumbledore was chuckling lightly. "I see you've taken an interest in Fawkes. Rather magnificent, isn't he, at his prime?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "He's…beautiful." It was true. I'd never seen a bird that glossy, glowing, vividly colored. The way he looked and moved almost reminded me of a dragon.

"Hiccup, do you know why you are here?"

I scowled. "No. Does it look like I meant to be here?" I gestured at myself, trying to capture the stark contrast between us. "I'm not a wizard or anything; I don't even know what magic _is._"

Dumbledore sighed benignly, then explained slowly, "Magic is an ability that certain people inherit through family lines, most of the time. Those people are more commonly called witches or wizards. Magic permeates everything in our world; for example there are quite a lot of magical creatures, and you've met quite a few."

The answer came quickly. "Like dragons." Apparently there was to be no beating around the bush.

Dumbledore looked pleased. "Exactly like dragons."

"But why do you need wands if you have magic…inside of you?"

Dumbledore seemed to be deciding how to answer my question; he definitely didn't expect me to be _inquisitive_, of all things. "A wizard cannot usually harness his power without a wand, except in the most dire of circumstances, when a younger wizard is upset or angry. This happens often to children who are too young to go to Hogwarts and not very experienced in self-control." He paused, then added with a slight smile, "Although, a few of our older students would do to work on that as well."

"Oh…right." I pretended I knew what he was talking about. He must have seen my lost expression, and said, "In due time, I will explain it all. However, I think at the moment you had better tell me all about…what has happened to you. I intended that you come to…keep an eye on things, so to say, when you were ready…" He trailed off, leaving me helplessly confused.

"Um…what do I do?" I asked, and Dumbledore smiled. "You may begin…the time you met Toothless."

He seemed trusting and kind, so I told him everything. Blandly, with no detail, a run of the facts.

Shot down a Night Fury.

Made friends.

Got good in dragon training.

Killed the Red Death.

Was playing hide and seek less than a few hours ago, touched a giant's boot and magically ended up here.

Okay, so it was a _little _more detailed than that, but by no standards was it a play-by-play summary of my life. I included the other teens, Toothless' tail, the fight with the Nightmare, and Berk's drastic transformation.

I left out the more emotional parts, because I didn't exactly feel comfortable talking to him yet. As much as I thought he wasn't about to kill me (but you never know…) he didn't exactly…seem weak.

He was a good listener, too, never interrupting, his eyes never straying from my face. It made me sort of uncomfortable, and when I twisted in my seat my leg banged against the desk.

My face heating up, I closed my eyes in mortification. _Well, _that _Terror's out of the bag…_

We Vikings _have _come up with rather creative sayings since the dragons moved in.

When I finally screwed up my courage enough to open my eyes (somewhat) to look at Dumbledore, his posture was completely unchanged. I thought for a moment maybe he hadn't noticed, but he appeared far two knowing.

"Hiccup, is there anything that you wish to tell me?"

Scowling, I shook my head.

"If there's anything that you would like to share about your…disability, Hogwarts has an excellent matron who can service your every need."

"It's not a disability!" I snapped. "It's…." my mind fell back on the first day of dragon training. _It's only fun if you get a scar out of it._"It's as battle scar!"

Not even startled, Dumbledore reacted smoothly. "Pardon my slipup." Behind him, the sky was beginning to light with color.

"But still, what do you want me to do?" The sooner I finished here, the sooner – oh, gods. The portraits around the walls – they were moving, stretching, getting up – or – maybe they weren't asleep in the first place? Feeling kind of faint, I slumped back in my seat.

"There is, currently, a competition going on at Hogwarts."

"The Triwizard Tournament," I remembered.

Dumbledore looked delighted. "Oh, you did talk to Charlie about that! I was wondering if you'd never ask." Wondering – waiting? For someone to ask a question?

Wizards were strange creatures.

"The First Task, designed to test bravery and cunning, is a setup of sorts, where the champions from the other schools, and ours, will have to get past a dragon and retrieve a golden egg."

"Aaand….what do I have to do with this?"

"Here in Scotland-" I started. So _that's _where we were. I'd never heard of it, though. Dumbledore pressed on. "Which is a bit of a ways away from Berk, it is common knowledge that dragons cannot be domesticated."

I snorted.

"Exactly! But Vikings have done it. The most stubborn of people, beginning from you." I squirmed under a proud sort of gaze.

He didn't know me! Why should _he _be proud?

"Because of the sheer amount of young, uncontrolled witches and wizards in the school at this time, not to mention the foreign ones, it is-" Dumbledore's lips twitched. "For lack of a better word, driving the dragons a bit nutty. And because you are the prime dragon keeper, your job will be to make sure that none of the champions get hurt seriously, or killed. You have to keep them under control."

Oh. Gods.

"No!" I protested instantly. "You – can't! I'll mess everything up! They'll all die anyway!"

Dumbledore looked at me sternly, and it felt as if his piercing blue gaze could see straight through my mind.

Instinctively, I cringed, and he said, "Do not be so hard on yourself. You have led your own friends into battle. You are to work with the dragons tomorrow. They need calming after being flown in today; and the day after, that is the First Task."

"But…you don't think I'm going to upset the dragons?"

"Why ever so, Hiccup?" His eyes twinkled. "After all, you're just a squib studying at Hogwarts with the foreign students for a day or so, training for becoming a wandmaker."

"Okay…" _Because I'm not even going to ask._

"And on the day of the First Task you will be working with Charlie Weasley, giving them instructions if the dragons need to be constrained. Although," he said seriously. "I have a rather…favorite student that was forced into the tournament. If anything, I would prefer if you can make sure he comes through unscathed."

I grinned weakly, while feeling like a grimace. A teacher's pet? He'd dragged me all the way from home for at least two days to protect his student?

"I'm not even magic," I argued. "How do you think I'm going to do it?"

"I'm sure you can pull it off," he reassured. "And I understand your resentments. However, Harry is being targeted by a rather evil wizard who is trying to rise. Accidentally, he was entered into the tournament."

"Why doesn't he just quit?" Not that I know anyone who quits at anything. It's like a cuddly Monstrous Nightmare – it just doesn't happen for Vikings.

"Because it is a very binding magical contract. I'm afraid I don't know what would happen to him if he tried to desert his position." There was no twinkling in his eyes now, more like a tiredness at the work he had to do to keep this student alive.

"And Harry's so special because…"

"Because he is vital to our side later, when it truly becomes a war. I fear he is the only one who can defeat our threat. But Hiccup," he reprimanded sternly. "He does not know of it. His hands are full with school work, everyday problems, and desperately trying to prepare for tomorrow. I would prefer-" the way he said it was an order, not a casual request. "If you did not share this information with anyone."

So this really _was _important.

"Okay. But one more thing, sir."

"Anything you have to ask, Hiccup."

I gulped, then managed to say, "Did you tell my dad I'm here?"

Dumbledore laughed. "There was no need to worry him. As far as anyone from home knows, you are on a hunting expedition with your exceptional dragon, Toothless, and will be back shortly."

"Oh." _And where does _Toothless _think I am?_

For the first time, Dumbledore looked away, at the lightening sky. "I believe it is time for you to go. It is almost breakfast time, after all. I have a student waiting to escort you to the Great Hall. For the time being, you will be staying in Gryffindor. I'm sure she will explain everything."

As I stood to go, he winked and added, "Good luck."

I raised my eyebrows as I turned away. I walked slowly and carefully, trying to prove to him that I wasn't trying so hard and I could walk just as well as anyone else.

As I opened the door and stepped onto the revolving staircase, I exhaled in wonderment.

Wait till my friends heard about this! They probably wouldn't believe me, except…

For a scary second I couldn't remember her name.


	3. Chapter 3

**Whew. Been a while, hasn't it?**

**Okay, first of all, I owe you an apology. I've been insanely lazy about updating lately...but, here it is! **

**My challenge is officially CLOSED. There are MAJOR spoilers for the rest of the story in here; so it wouldn't be fair to keep it going once I practically reveal the answer to my own question.**

**On the other hand, CONGRATULATIONS to my WINNER, Annabeth the Unicorn. You rock, and you successfully guessed at my challenge! Good job. The character Annie is for you.**

**Colorlikewhoa, who you may or may not know as the original writer of Dragon Trainer (since I'm just it's adopted mom) has the character Niccolette Wayne. Yeah, they're entirely original, except for the concepts these two amazing people gave me. **

**...hmn...anything else I have to say here? Uh, hope you like it? **

**Fun Fact: This document is offically 20 pages in my Word processor, pt. 8 Verdana, single spaced. I feel SO accomplished. So...keep me in the game here, and review! If I don't get feedback, I'll probably get sad, and then...feel less inclined to update. I know that sounds typical, like a threat, or a typical threat, but... it's kinda true. **

**So...Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Wide-eyed, I gulped for a second, <em>her <em>face very prominent in my mind. I blinked.

Astrid. Yeah, that sounded right. _Astrid._

Astrid, with a blonde braid thicker than my fist and beautiful blue eyes and a Nadderhead called Stormfly.

How could I have forgotten her?

When the staircase stopped moving and I walked out into the corridor, I realized it was empty. No one had come.

"Typical," I sighed. "Oh, yeah, Hiccup!" I commented to myself. "We'll just whip you from there to here, where you can take care of our problems!" I'd just smacked myself in the forehead – _ow_ – when a girl came around the corner with a pained expression. I raised my eyebrows at her, partially in greeting, partially because my face was still smarting.

She brightened a little, giving me a little smile.

Her hair was….extremely thick and brown, with little corkscrews and asymmetrical waves all over the place. She had warm brown eyes to match, an energetic demeanor, and was wearing long black robes with two bags slung over her shoulder.

"Hello…" I said, a little warily, my hand frozen on my head while I tried to resist rubbing it. She grinned.

"Hi! You're Hiccup, right?"

I nodded.

"You – you're my…guide. Person. Right?" I dropped my arm awkwardly.

She looked at me quizzically, and I felt like her eyes were taking in everything about me, but somehow they never left my face.

"Hermione Granger," she replied easily. "I'm sorry I'm a bit late, McGonagall's just told me I was to come take you to the Hospital Wing, then breakfast."

"H- Hospital Wing?" I spluttered indignantly. Again, I maneuvered the leg closer to my body. "I'm not even hurt!"

Hermione's (what a _strange _name) eyes flicked quickly down, then back up again. "I know. But Madam Pomfrey'd like to check you over anyway, make sure you're all right. Jet lag, and stuff," she explained.

"O – oh," I agreed confusedly. She grabbed my forearm in a tight grip and led me through the hall. I was keeping up fine, but if it occurred to her to check that I wasn't about to fall, she didn't show it. It was actually pretty impressive. If there'd been points for Frightening Foreigners, though, she'd have gotten top marks.

"So…does your house have moving pictures?" I asked, gesturing at a painting of a few men sitting around a table.

Hermione shook her head, slowing her pace. "I'm Muggle-born, so it was rather shocking for my first few days here," she said. "I suppose you're rather surprised, too, or are you used to it, being a Squib?"

"Huh?" too late, I remembered Dumbledore's instructions. "Oh, yeah. Um – no. I mean-" I had no idea what to say. "Pass?"

She frowned. She cocked her head, twisting her fingers nervously. Instead of talking, she just nodded briskly in the right direction and led a quick walk.

It was a little refreshing, after all the Charlie business. "So, uh, what's jet lag?"

An unchecked answer spilled from her mouth, sounding like she was quoting something and couldn't resist doing it. "It's when your body can't adapt to how short or long the day is from where you were traveling from. You lose concentration, are fatigued-"

A struck thought her. "But you didn't know. Because you're not actually a Squib, are you?"

Dumbledore should have given this girl more credit. How was I supposed to know she was some sort of soothsayer who could charm out all my secrets with a single word?

"All right, you got me," I admitted carefully. "I have no idea what a Squib is, and just had 'wizard' defined for me. Can we go now? I need to see the dragons."

It didn't seem to faze her. "How did you get past the barriers?"

"Barriers?"

"The magic spells that protect the school from Muggles. You _aren't _magic, right?" She stepped closer to me, eyeing my face up and down. Her gaze traveled quickly from my scrawny frame to my drooping, tired eyes, to my leg, which I'd been willing the gods for her not to notice.

That is, again. You know, with _detail._

_Thanks a lot, _I grumbled mentally.

"Um…I got…lucky?" There was really nothing else to say.

"You're not really a Squib, are you?" It wasn't a question.

"No…?"

"Dragons…" her voice cut off, and she looked like she was concentrating. "If you're just a Muggle, how do you know about dragons?"

She was a lot smarter than she looked, I decided. "Uh…family?"

"No," Hermione answered herself. "You're a – a Muggle, but you're – _dragons – _Portkey?" Her words were disconnected, seemingly following some pattern only she could understand, becoming more and more excited. But when she spoke again, it had nothing to do with dragons.

"I'll take you to the Hospital Wing."

She swung around a corner, barged through a tapestry, and pushed her way through to high, wooden doors leading to a sunlit corridor.

It was quiet inside. Very still, with huge windows spilling light over the large amount of beds laid in neat rows. One side of the room was empty, but the last bed on the other was occupied by a girl whining in pain and a motherly looking woman bedecked in white.

Hermione had fallen silent as we entered, and was watching the matron wave her wand with unerring precision. The girl sitting on the bed had dark hair, horrific acne (and I'd seen _Viking_ acne) and tense, worried muscles. It took me a few seconds to realize that she had no nose on her face.

I gasped and cringed back in horror, my eyes closing involuntarily. When I had the courage to crack open an eyelid again, I noticed that there weren't even slits for her to breathe through, just a blank, flesh colored space where her nose should have been.

"Eloise?" Hermione asked timidly, obviously very concerned for her.

All I could manage, on the other hand, was, "Uh…?"

The matron was considerably calmer than any of us. Then, it became clear – and I recoiled in shock – that she was holding the severed facial feature in her hand. "I'm sure it will be fine, Miss Midgen," she said comfortingly, and Hermione rushed forward.

"Oh, Eloise, you _didn't!" _

The girl sitting on the bed moaned. "I _did!_ I tried to curse this stupid acne off – and-" she waved her arms in a circle. "The spell went all wrong, and – _poof – _my nose came off!" She hid her face in her hands and groaned.

"Now, Miss _Midgen_," scolded Madam Pomfrey, gently removing her hands to clear the way to her face. "It has certainly not been that long already – and I'm sure I can get it on in the end."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," whispered Eloise, and Hermione sat next to her on the bed, patting her hand consolingly.

"It's actually quite impressive magic," Hermione allowed, her eyes wide. "I'm not sure how you managed it – but it must have taken massive amounts of concentration – how did you do it, anyway?"

Eloise grinned slightly. "I'm not sure. All I know is I was ready, then my wand went off, and my nose went with it."

_Back…on…_

She…cursed her nose off…and it was going to get – back…_on? _

Gooseflesh erupted from my forearms and went directly up to the top of my head, down to my toes.

How was that _possible? _

I was so lost in thought that (my mouth hanging open, a blank expression, I'm sure) it took at least twice for Eloise to ask, "Who's your friend, Hermione?" before I noticed.

When I came back to my senses, I realized Hermione was looking at me curiously, as if wondering what I'd answer her.

"Hiccup," I said gingerly, and Eloise blinked, startled.

"Interesting name," she admitted, looking back up at Madam Pomfrey imploringly. "Can you just-"

"I will get it on when I get it on, Miss Midgen! You didn't even use a spell, and that makes it all the harder!"

"Yes, ma'am," Eloise answered, turning her attention back to me. "So, Hiccup. You're new here?"

I nodded. "Uh-"

There was a noise similar to something getting stuck in a Terror's throat, and Eloise, tears in her eyes, reached up to her nose in glee. Her face fell. "It's not right."

Hermione winced apologetically. "It's not bad, Eloise. It's just the tiniest bit off center, hardly anyone will notice-"

Eloise was gulping now, and she gathered her things in a fluster and dashed out of the room without anything else to say.

"Well," sighed Madam Pomfrey, sinking into a chair. She surveyed me. "What can I do for you?"

I flushed and stepped back, but the matron's eyes were drawn immediately to my leg, where her already kindly expression softened and she said quietly, "Ah. I see." What bothered me most was her intense, interested surprise.

"There's nothing wrong with it," I said sharply, backing away farther, but Hermione had other ideas.

"Strictly, Madam Pomfrey, he's not here for the leg. Dumbledore just wanted to have him checked over, see if his first time by Portkey treated him well."

"Oh, of course," she agreed, and stood. "Well, dear, sit down."

As I did – warily – she proceeded to wave her wand over me, attempting to detect anything wrong. _I _knew I was healthy, and I didn't really care what she wanted.

"Remarkable," she commented, her eyebrows nearly concealed in her flyaway grey hair. "You're actually very healthy for a child your age." Surprisingly, she didn't mention how skinny I was, or small, or thin, or anything like that. Instead, she asked, "If you don't mind my asking, dear, why is it you've got an artificial leg?"

"What do you mean?" They were the words I'd meant to say, but Hermione said them for me. "Professor Moody has one far more primal than Hiccup's."

She raised her eyebrows even higher. "Your leg was not severed by Dark Magic, dear-"

"What?" I retorted, shocked. "Of course it wasn't!" Dark Magic? How in the world could that cut a leg off? Actually, the only thing I could think that would remove a leg would be dragons or weapons. And they kind of go hand-in-hand.

"So why haven't you gotten someone to-"

She cut off rather suddenly. When I turned to look at Hermione, however, she was perfectly still and attentive.

Curiously, I looked back to Madam Pomfrey. "What were you-"

A bell tolled rather suddenly, clanging loudly and fiercely, echoing through seven floors of stone. Hermione, looking like she'd just seen a Night Fury, jumped up, grabbed my arm, and called over her shoulder as she dragged me out, "Hopefully I won't see you again soon, Madam Pomfrey!"

The last thing audible before the door slammed shut was, "You too dear! Tell him good luck with the First Task!"

"What was she-"

But Hermione had let go of my arm very suddenly, as a few students drifted down. She straightened her robes; they all gave me weird looks, and some of them smiled at Hermione in a pitying manner. She sniffed indignantly.

"Come on, Hiccup. It's time for breakfast."

...

A very confusing trip through the castle later, I was finally – _finally_ – being dumped at the 'Gryffindor' table, surrounded by three other tables of jabbering, noisy kids with weird breakfast food.

"So we sit over-"

"There." Hermione gestured to a group of students who seemed more cheerful and familial than the rest. "Don't go over there, those are Slytherins-" she pointed to a sneering, pale blonde boy who saw me looking and grinned nastily. "The Hufflepuffs are pretty nice," a few smiling groups congregated around a tall boy in the middle that I couldn't see because of his admirers, "And the Ravenclaws. They're okay, very sharp. They always wonder why I'm not a Ravenclaw." She drew herself up. "But I'm Gryffindor."

"Ooo…kay." As I was heading after Hermione toward the Gryffindors, someone got up from the Ravenclaw table, hesitated, darted forward directly into my path and I crashed into her. My leg banged against her shin, she gasped, and we both went down. She was on top of me, but I wriggled out. Someone from the Slytherin side of the room laughed loudly, and as I tried to push myself up, I realized I was pushing against the girl's shoulder.

I jerked back. "Uh- I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…uh-"

"Ah, s'okay," panted the girl, leaning back on her elbows. Her long hair was all over the floor, neatly cut bangs falling in front of brown eyes that seemed…clear…? because they were accented by silver things on her nose. I took a closer look and realized that there were slim metal bars going behind her ears, and that there was glass in circles resting over her nose.

"But," she began to gather her bag up and crouched to rise while I scrambled back to my feet. "Did you _hit _me with? Spikes? Metal-toed boots? I feel like I just got run over by a lawnmower."

Hermione had her face in her hands, shaking her head, hiding her face with the bushiness of her hair.

The girl pushed her hair back carelessly, straightening her robes, and her eyes flicked down my body until she saw my leg.

"Oh. Merlin." She colored, almost losing her grip on her books. She half-stepped forward, her fingers hiding her mouth, which seemed halfway between a smile and a sob. "I'm – so – sorry!"

"Don't be," I said, immensely confused. "I…I crashed into _you." _

"But – I shouldn't've – oh, never mind." Gripping her things under one arm, she stuck out the other, distractedly. "I'm Nicolette Wayne. I was just on my way over to see-" she gestured helplessly toward the Hufflepuffs.

"Oh. I'm Hiccup." Half of her mouth turned up quickly in a grin, (still blushing) before she said quickly, "Nice name," turned, and left.

"Wow." Even though she was walking away from me, I still felt like she was there, worried about me. But this time, it didn't feel like the way the others did. Maybe because she was my age, or because she actually _might _have had something to be sorry about.

My eyes followed her, and she sat down next to a girl with thick, shoulder-length blonde hair. She seemed to be explaining something, moving her hands to tell a story. They both turned toward me, and the friend made a thumbs up, grinned, and mouthed, "I'm Annie!" Then she whipped back around and continued eating.

Nicolette's eyes, however, stayed a moment more, and then she, too, turned back, grinning.

"What was _that _all about?"

Hermione, on the other hand, was still shaking her head. "Boys."

...

"And this…is…is…what did you call it again?"

"Toast." Hermione was exasperated. She grabbed another piece of toast for herself and began spreading jelly made from some red fruit I'd never heard of onto it, seeming to enjoy it immensely.

"Oh. Yeah. I know." To prove my all-knowingness, I swallowed my trepidation and took a piece of toast for myself. Cautiously, I took a bite. It was crunchy…sort of, and really soft. It was so soft, in fact, that I couldn't believe I was eating bread. It could have been clouds.

My face must have looked really interesting, because Hermione smiled and offered the jelly. I inspected it out of the corner of my eye for a few seconds, then shook my head. No-o.

"Hermione?" I was facing her, so when she looked up and saw the person calling her from behind me, I could see her pale visibly and bite her lip.

"What's-"

Someone sat down next to me. A boy, very thin, almost the same height as me (give or take plus one inch) with black hair and the same glass face things as Nicolette was staring at Hermione with electric green eyes. His whole body was tight, his face set, as if he was deeply worried about something. I noticed his hand was clenched inside his robes, maybe on the magic wand.

I tried again. "What's wr-"

They ignored my question, but Hermione said in a very high pitched voice, "Harry, this is Hiccup. Hiccup, this is Harry."

Harry…the teacher's pet? Curiously, I took another look. He stared at the table, gritting his teeth, and I noticed he had an unusual scar on his forehead – shaped like a lightning bolt. Curious, I tried to look at it without appearing too obviously looking at it.

"Hermione, are you almost done with breakfast?" His voice was tight, too, and she immediately responded, "No. What's wrong?"

Exactly what I wanted to know.

"Nothing." I'd never seen a worse lie, and we all know how bad a liar _I _am.

Quickly, Hermione jammed the last bit of her toast into her mouth, wiped her hands on a napkin, and rose, searching the table quickly. Then, "Ginny, c'mere a minute." Then she waved, motioned with her eyes to Harry, who rose, and they walked away, heads bent, Harry whispering fervently.

I was so busy watching them – leaning farther and farther away from the bench seat – that when Hermione's expression changed to horrified, I slipped and fell (_again_) onto the flagstones. I groaned.

"Just can't stand up, can you?" I pulled my legs over the bench, turned around, and got to my feet. Standing over me – around my height – was a _really_ pretty girl. She had bright, straight red hair, fine features, and a physique that reminded me strongly of Astrid's. She had bright brown eyes, but she was half-smiling.

"I'm Ginny Weasley."

"Um…okay." I suddenly remembered my manners lesson from Charlie. "I'm Hiccup." Charlie…wait, Charlie Weasley. "You're Charlie's…daughter?"

Her eyebrows rose, and she laughed hard, bringing a hand to her face. "No! He's my second-oldest brother. Of course, I wasn't really expecting you to say _Charlie. _More people think of me as Fred and George's little sister." She pointed to two other red-heads laughing and doing what appeared to be cracking jokes to the whole Gryffindor table.

"So, you're the new kid." It wasn't a question.

"So…you've been here a while?" I didn't really have anything else to say. Besides, it was really distracting to talk to her, for some reason.

She nodded, then motioned with her head toward her end of the table. "I know you're not done yet, and it's not time for classes, so…?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure. Okay." She should have been easy to talk to, with her humorous, slightly mischievous aura, but, to tell the truth, no one seemed easy to talk to here. We were all so… different. Well, _they_ were all different from _me._

"So. You met the famous Harry Potter." She didn't sound bitter, or condescending. Instead, it was easy teasing she was trying to employ, but she sounded a little nervous, and even stranger, in a little bit of awe. To my questioning look, she replied, "He's my brother's best friend."

Unsure if she said _brother's _or _brothers'_ I began to ask, "Wh-"

"Ron. Youngest older brother." She paused as we passed him. For a best friend, he looked surly, moody, surrounded by people who…weren't Harry. Also worried. As for Ginny, she didn't seem upset at all. "Well, they had a fight a few months ago, but I'm fairly certain they'll make up quite soon."

"Why? What's goi-"

"The First Task is two days from now," explained Ginny. "Everyone's a little on edge. Mostly because they're rooting for Cedric Diggory, and the foreign kids have got their own. No one really wants them here, anyway. Of course, everyone's kind of rooting for Viktor Krum because he's an International Quidditch player, but, you know. Hardly anyone wants Harry, since he's the fourth champion. Wasn't supposed to be in the tournament, after all. But, of course all us Gryffindors want Harry to win." Her eyes were fierce, daring me to disagree with her.

_So maybe _this _is what Hermione meant by 'Gryffindors are loyal…'_ Sure would be nice if the people back on Berk took that kind of care of their own.

"So _that's _what they're worried about." I shut up just in time to remember not to say, "The dragons." Truth be told, _I _would have been a bit more frightened than Harry if I'd known I was about to face them – that is, before I discovered that they're truly wonderful beings. But, that's beside the point.

"I'm not, of course. Harry always manages to pull through. He's done dangerous things before." A guy who was important to the good guys, a teacher's pet, and a daredevil to boot. This guy just seemed to be getting better and better.

Of course, Hermione'd seemed decent, and I figured any friend of hers was okay by me (especially since I'd only be here a few days). The people didn't really matter to me.

So when I tried to ask, "Why's he so special?" The question that came out instead was (because I was really interested in _that_) "How did he get his scar?"

Immediately she sobered up some, sitting at the end of the table. I sat next to her, and (thank Odin) she didn't even notice when I pulled my legs over.

"I'd have thought you knew that." Her voice was quiet, sad. "You-Know-Who tried to kill him when he was a baby, but…"

Ginny turned and looked me full in the face. "He lived."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello...I have no idea how to apologize. _Five months..._the last time I updated...wow. It's been almost half a year. I have two months to go unil I've been on FF for an entire year.**

**Right. Well, I've been keeping you guys hostage, just like Hiccup! I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep, so. Enjoy!**

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><p>"Wh- <em>You-Know-Who<em>? How in Midgard am I supposed to know who? Besides, well - yeah, I see that. I mean, he's alive. He sat next to me. So, he lived. Like us. We're alive. Why does it make him so important?"

Ginny's eyes were wide. "Um…"

I squinted.

She sighed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh, then said softly, "You-Know-Who is the Darkest wizard in the world. He killed hundreds of good people. And when he tried to kill Harry, he couldn't do it. Harry lived – the only person who ever survived the killing curse – and You-Know-Who vanished."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she wasn't finished. _Darkest? _And what made Harry so special?

"A lot of people say he died, but he's probably not. Weird things have been happening this year; my parents say that You-Know-Who is getting stronger. But he may never come back."

Her eyes were glowing. "Harry not only got rid of him the first time, but he's faced him twice since then. And we have Dumbledore, the only wizard You-Know-Who was ever truly afraid of."

My eyes flicked to the table at the front of the hall, positioned to watch the students. Hermione had called it something like the 'High Table' (which made hardly any sense), to Dumbledore, sitting in a thronelike chair in the dead center. To my surprise, his eyes were already on me.

Ginny continued, her voice very grave; and she went on with her eyes closed. I wondered if this was the first time she'd ever had to explain all this to someone; or if everyone just knew the recent history. Imagine being a parent having to explain that…Harry's parents must have been totally lost on how to talk to him; kind of like me and my dad. "But he's afraid of Harry too. And as long as we have them on our side, it'll be okay. You'll never meet someone more loyal than Harry."

I nodded, and she kept going.

"In my first year, You-Know-Who possessed me-"

"Wait, _what?_"

Ginny's face filled up with color and she said hotly, "He possessed me. I was eleven. He tried to kill people through me; he used me to open a secret chamber under the school and release a monster. But Harry and Ron … once T-_" _She caught herself, her voice shivering. "_You-Know-Who_ took me down there, they rescued me."

"Oh." _What does that even mean?_

Questions were racing through my head. T? What did T stand for? A name? Something she didn't want me to know? It was seriously still upsetting her, even though a couple years had passed.

So I decided on something more simple.

"Dark?"

She knit her eyebrows. "Dark," she said slowly. "Like Dark Magic. Dark Wizards use Dark Magic." She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "How come you don't know all this?"

"Uh… 'm not a wizard…" Could I still attempt to fool her and say I was a Squi - ? Squi…?

"Really?" Her skepticism was poisoning, one eyebrow arched.

"Uh, …squid?"

Well, it was worth a try.

She burst out laughing. "You mean Squib? It's kind of obvious you're not one of them, either. You'd at least know how to say it right. Sorry, it's not really funny, but it's just that the lake outside's _got_ a squid in it. My brothers like to mess with it."

"Okay…uh, you caught me." I tried to edge away. _What was a squid?_ "Uh, I'm not a Squib. Or a wizard. Or, anything exciting, really. So… can I just…go?" I cleared my throat. "I, uh, have to, um, go to the dragons. That's why I'm here…"

She didn't move, which kind of silently indicated that _I _shouldn't get up, either. "What are you?" It occurred to me too late that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about the dragons.

I hung my head. Two down, about nine hundred left to go. "UmuhVkng," I mumbled.

"Hmn?"

"I'm a Viking," I said louder, wondering if I believed it. I mean, you don't exactly go from 'the worst Viking Berk has ever seen' to proudly proclaiming it in a hall full of dangerous strangers. _I'm just a Hiccup._

Especially dangerous to a bad Viking…right?

She blinked. "Haha. I admit, I've never heard that before."

I frowned. "You… don't believe me?" Was it really that _un_believable? What if I never got back?

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "It's…" She grasped for something to say. "It's…"

I interjected, vying for approval. "It's magic. Anything can happen, right?"

"Well…" Ginny's eyebrows scrunched. "I mean, we don't get people here. There are a bunch of Anti-Muggle charms all over it – anyone who gets near here suddenly remembers, like, an appointment or something. Maybe-"

"Look; I was in the woods and I touched a boot, and all of a sudden I was here." I gulped. "Hermione said … portkey, or something."

"Mm." She was thinking. "That does seem to make sense, but… there'd be some time travel, too, and that's kind of … improbable."

"Why?"

"Because the only way to use time travel is with a time turner," she explained. "Hermione had one. You turn it by the hour. There's no way that all those years-"

"Hold on." I gripped my head. "You're telling me that – that – this school doesn't exist in my time? That I'm in the – the future?"

She nodded.

My mouth fell open. "N- no. That's impossible. There's no way, this can't be happening – I need to get back ho-"

"Well…" Ginny looked completely confused. "Hogwarts was founded around a thousand years ago, but you'd be from before then, wouldn't you? Bugger. You'd probably want to talk to Hermione, she knows more about this. But she's really busy helping Harry get ready for the First Task."

"Right. Well…"

It looked like Ginny'd forgotten about my slipup about the dragons, so I inched away from her. "I'm just gonna … go. Um, good class."

"Mm." She nodded skeptically.

Frowning, I swung my legs over and began to walk away, feeling Ginny's eyes on me. I could hear her open her mouth, start to say something, and think better of it.

The problem became I had no idea where to go, but the way from the entrance to the front door was fairly simple. The doors were a lot lighter than they looked, which was a relief. Probably magic.

In daylight, the grounds seemed a lot more like home than they did in the shadows of the night. From the steps of the castle, I could see the Forest that the dragons were hidden in, and miles of soft rolling hills. Behind the castle were sharp, jagged mountains, all topped in a marbled gray sky. Directly in front, though, was a vast iron colored lake that I couldn't see the end of.

I pulled my notebook out of the pocket in my vest, and opened it to the page of the castle from yesterday. It seemed like a few hundred years had passed since I was playing with Toothless in the woods. And now… I snapped it shut. Slowly, with lots of mishaps and getting lost in the woods, I managed to find my way back.

The four dragons looked a lot more like dragons and a lot less like jotuns this time of day, something I was grateful for. The wizards were grouped around a fire in the middle of the cages, and Charlie stood to shake my hand when he saw me.

"Folks, this is Hiccup." Several of them sized me up, eyes lingering on you-know-what, and I gritted my teeth, daring them to say something. No one spoke up, and Charlie rubbed his hands eagerly. "Hiccup, do what you do best."

I looked at them gingerly, feeling outnumbered. They weren't my people, they didn't have any allegiance to me. What did it matter? I'd be what, calling the shots and trying not to kill the champions? Calling the shots…or standing on the sidelines, ready to rush in?

Or screw up.

What was I supposed to _do?_

I swallowed.

"Uh…right." Glancing over quickly, I made my way to the first cage: the one with the dragon I'd seen last night, with shining, gleaming silver-blue scales. I could feel some of them craning their necks – no doubt wondering why Charlie was letting me get in there by myself – but I unlatched the cage and slipped inside.

The dragon was asleep. Trying not to put my leg down too hard, I inched forward, sizing it up in my mind: too big. The dragon was two or three times as wide around as Too-

Thless… Why wasn't Toothless with me? I froze, straining to think. Something black blurred at the edges of my vision. Something wasn't right.

All at once, it swept over me: everything I'd been through in the past few days. I was completely, entirely alone, stranded centuries away from my home. I was gods-know-where, I was surrounded by people I wasn't sure were actually human, and I was _alone. _

I _missed_ home. Berk, which seemed remarkably like this place…with my dragon. Astrid. My friends. My dad…

And the only reason I'd lost all that was because some selfish old men had decided they needed one _kid's_ help to handle their own problems. I was dead already, wasn't I? Maybe they'd pulled me down the rainbow from Valhalla itself.

It was just _wrong._

Why should I _help _them?

I didn't even notice that the dragon was waking up, and I snapped to just as the dragon screamed. I barely managed to dodge the flames, throwing myself to the side.

"Hey," I called. "I'm not going to hurt you! Calm down!"

The dragon thrashed and swung its tail at me and I bolted in the other direction – luckily it wasn't spiked or tipped in anything poisonous…that I could see.

"Hey! What's going on?" The dragon stomped after me. "What's wrong with you?"

I wasn't armed! If the dragon hadn't been on rampage I would have stopped and tried to touch it – but I wasn't going to be able to get anywhere near this thing if it kept at it.

The idea was sudden, and completely brilliant.

I groped behind me and raised my voice. "Hey! Somebody – toss me your wand!"

These dragons weren't used to seeing weapons – but they _did _know to be afraid of magic.

Someone shoved a stick in my hand and I held it out before the dragon, who recoiled and shrieked. Taking a deep breath, I threw it as far as I could in the other direction.

The dragon's coiled muscles relaxed and it stilled, curious. Grinning, I hurried forward and touched a hand to the top of its head. It froze, and I placed a hand under its chin, rubbing. It didn't collapse, but it reached forward and sniffed me. Apparently perplexed, it recoiled, sniffed me again, and deemed me acceptable.

The dragon didn't have scales that felt soft, almost skin like like Toothless – its scales were hard, tough, and mirrored. It was magnificent. Was this some kind of new species? Did we have them back at Berk? I couldn't remember any dragon like that…

I looked back at the wizards – who were all staring at me in awe. One of them actually rubbed his eye, like he thought he was asleep.

Maybe this wouldn't be _so_ bad after all…


	5. Chapter 5

_**I am so sorry.**_** I must have, like, no loyal readers. (Shakes head.) I've chased you all away! Six months, and then...it's February, right? I updated in October... months... man. I'm just bad at this stuff. Well, I do have several excuses, including several exciting events - a new flute, spending most of January sick, and then (joy) oral surgery. However, these have never kept me from writing. I just... **

**Well, to tell the truth, that house-elf... I had _no idea_ what to do with it. I'm sorry. That is the true reason I have kept away. Blame. the. house. elf. **

**On a slightly more relevant track, things begin to heat up! I had to switch some stuff around - like the day of the dragons' arrival, how long Harry worked with Hermione in secret to master the Summoning Charm, and (_most_ importantly) what time of morning Hiccup got to the Gryffindor Common Room! **

**Right. So. I'll stop stalling. Read. Go. **

**(And don't forget to review. :) **

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><p>Fortunately for me, they didn't make me go get the wand I threw into the grass. After the Short Snout was calmed down a little, (staring sadly after me) I slipped out of the cage, breathing hard. The wizards waiting outside were staring, wide eyed.<p>

I expected a sort of wild search for the wand, but to my astonishment, Charlie simply gazed around, raised _his_ wand and muttered some short nonsense word with a hard sound that sounded a little like Latin. The other one flew suddenly toward us from twenty or so feet away, nearly taking my head off.

I barely managed to duck, covering my head. Charlie deftly caught it and tossed it to John, who stuck it through a belt loop. "You armed, kid?"

Quickly, I shook my head. John was eyeing me up and down, obviously trying to figure out what exactly I _did_ that prevented the Short Snout from squishing me flat. Behind me, I could hear it extending the frill of sharp, smooth spikes around its neck. Vaguely, I wondered if it could shoot them, like Nadders.

Before I had a chance to stutter some reason that was probably a thousand – or two? – years out of date, Charlie interrupted. "Hiccup, that's a Swedish Short Snout. The point of the First Task – designed to test on-the-spot nerve and ability – is to get past one of these nesting mothers and get an enchanted egg." The other keepers stared at him, plainly not envying those champions. He shrugged. "I found out this afternoon."

A dragon egg.

Although it's pretty hard to tell the difference between girl and boy dragons at first sight, the behavior is almost always markedly different; especially since female dragons apparently found someplace new to put their eggs once the Red Death was killed – most of the male dragons aren't clever enough for that.

I whistled, imagining the poor kids trying to get past. Dodging, running, those irrational long robes getting caught on fire… I starting thinking of what _my_ plan would be. Toothless, obviously…together, it couldn't be too hard to get past one of them.

"Anyway, it's not a real dragon egg," Charlie continued. "I'm not sure what it'll look like, but I think it's made of gold. It's absolutely essential that each champion gets the egg, because by the time we put them with the clutches, they'll be enchanted to hold a clue for the next task."

I nodded, so far keeping pace. "So…uh, what am I supposed to do?"

Charlie rubbed a finger along his bare jaw, thinking. "What does Dumbledore have in mind?"

I shrugged. _Well, kidnapping, but…_

"Hm. How about this? You get to know the dragons tonight, then we'll sit you in the stands-"

"The stands?"

"-and if a champion does anything _particularly_ stupid, you can run out there and take control of the situation." He tilted his head, thinking. "It might be able to save the situation for the champion a little better, considering that you're the only one the dragons'll let near them."

I nodded again. "And…um…right. Okay."

Although disguised, that was my sentence. I spent the rest of the day – and I mean from directly after breakfast until way after dinner – making nice with the dragons while the keepers hung out by the fire, playing some sort of game with shiny balls that spit green goo into the loser's face, betting on the results.

The Swedish Short Snout was rapidly becoming my favorite. Although a little temperamental – not that I'd met a dragon who was calm all the time, even _Toothless_ had his moments – it seemed to be overall pretty sweet-natured. The boxes of eggs had arrived and been placed inside each of the cages, which contributed a lot to letting the agitation simmer down. Every mother felt better when her babies were close by.

Although it didn't collapse when I touched under the chin, it seemed to enjoy when I scratched the scales underneath that prickly frill, tensing up in appreciation.

The Welsh Green, likewise, was pretty even-tempered. It seemed the most reptilian in a sense, not as gracefully serpent-like as the Short Snout. It – she – was heavier, more bulky – built for land assault and combat, not the skies. Her vertical pupils – somehow seeming a _lot_ more hostile than Toothless' – followed my every move. She tried intimidation – charging straight at me.

She wasn't fast or flexible, and she wasn't afraid of whatever she thought the consequences of running me over were. Obviously, she didn't think I could take her by myself. But when I'd made no move at all to attack – most importantly, no reaching toward my pockets for a wand I didn't have – she'd become curious enough to let me touch her.

The Chinese Fireball and Hungarian Horntail, watching my slow friendship with their comrades, were even more receptive to my attention. The Horntail in particular enjoyed the fact that I scratched the hardest-to-reach places, like the base of each spike. Feeling slightly in wonder at all the new breeds, I suddenly remembered something Charlie had mentioned earlier – I was the only one the dragons would let near them like this.

Maybe wizards had magic, but they never seemed to care about anything except themselves.

When I glanced over the Horntail's spiky black back to check where Charlie was – he'd better not be enjoying himself while I was _working _for him – I saw him leaning back in his chair, a stein that seemed to be _made of glass_ with a butter colored liquid in it hanging out of his hand, completely asleep.

The other wizards weren't so alert either.

Silently fuming, I got up, tiptoed (sort of) around the purring Hungarian Horntail and headed back to the castle, which was still lit up brightly. The walk seemed to take forever in the semi-darkness, and I seemed to step in every single rabbit hole – although, since this was a magic school, there were probably nastier things than rabbits in some of the holes.

I was aching, and exhausted. I hadn't slept since…hmm. It was afternoon when I was back home, and then early morning, and now it was night again. Two days? Too long, that's for sure.

And _hungry…_

Scowling, I trudged up to the big doors, hoping they didn't need magic to open.

I was lucky. I managed to squeeze through the foot I pulled open, and once the heavy door swung back into place, I turned to look at the lock – there were several of them, like straps, all the way up the door, bolted in, iron. Impressive.

And someone had forgotten to lock up tonight.

I had a strange idea that Dumbledore may've had something to do with that.

Aaand, if Dumbledore had something to do with me getting in to the castle after dark, he _must_ have had something to do with the tiny creature who showed up with a sandwich and led the way to Gryffindor Tower.

A loud crack that seemed to have no source at all echoed through the Entrance Hall, and I stumbled backward over myself as a … _thing_ appeared suddenly right in front of me.

I stopped just in time, and the creature squeaked in fright. It was a little taller – not by much – than my knees, with long, flapping ears, a most inhuman nose, and wide, glassy green eyes larger than my fists. With a posture of surrender, it held a shining silver plate – with a sandwich artfully arranged on it – up over its head.

"Uh…hi," I said, completely bemused. The creature smiled slightly, offering the thing again. Slowly, I picked up the sandwich, still warm from wherever it had come from.

"Hi, Sir!" I choked.

"Uh… 'Sir'?" Suddenly deciding I didn't want the food, I shoved it into the pocket of my vest. "Umm… right. D- d'you know the way- I mean, I was told I was supposed to-"

Quickly, the little creature began trotting up staircases and around corridors, chattering squeakily in a very high-pitched voice as it led me to what I assumed must be the 'Gryffindor Tower' Dumbledore mentioned earlier. I scrambled after it (it moved surprisingly fast for its size), trying to listen but barely able to distinguish the words.

Finally, the thing, which had introduced itself as a 'house-elf' (as though I should be expected to know what an _elf_ was) stopped at the dead end of a long hallway and gestured at a living painting of an enormously overweight woman with a friendly smile in a silken pink dress. It squeaked something that sounded like, "Baldrdash" – although I couldn't imagine why he'd want to dash Baldr – and then the painting _swung forward_ on hidden hinges.

Forgetting my tiredness, hungriness, everything, I felt my eyes widen and before I knew it, I was standing at the edge of the portrait, feeling for something that would explain her turning.

"_Excuse_ me, but I didn't wake up to be _goggled _at. Get in!" Swallowing raw shock, I slowly backed away from the extended frame and walked back around to the front, a large hole in the wall revealed by her absence. It showed a round, cozy room lit only by a glowing fire, filled with squishy red armchairs and more of that interesting floor-covering.

Gaping, I placed my hands on the stone of the round hole and hoisted myself up, the two spikes on the bottom of my foot scraping loudly. Two people by the fireplace suddenly halted whatever they were doing – something heavy flew through the air and smacked one of them – and the other called out tentatively, "Hiccup?"

It was Hermione. Getting to my feet, I nervously got closer. The other figure revealed itself to be Harry Potter by the silhouette of messy hair and the round glass-things over his face. His jaw was working, and he was holding a heavy-looking book in one hand and his wand in the other.

Hermione, too, had her wand out, looking flustered and panicked. The two of them were obviously doing something –

"We're preparing for the First Task," Hermione said in a very strange voice. "Oh, Hiccup, please don't tell Professor Dumbledore – it's against the rules, but he didn't know how- you remember, he came to me this morning, at breakfast-"

"It's okay," I said quickly, slightly alarmed. Hermione's hair was everywhere, and her eyes were too wide. "Umm, aren't you done, though? I mean, you look like you could use some sleep…"

To my surprise, she rubbed a hand across her eyes and yawned. "Just a few more minutes," she mumbled. "Harry's almost got it…" She shook her head, as if to keep awake. "You – you're welcome to stay, Hiccup…"

Completely bewildered, I sat between them in the first squishy chair. It was surprising – I hadn't known something so soft existed. Interested, I pressed down hard, feeling it press back between my fingers, but looked up sharply as Harry threw the book back to Hermione, who gave him a nod.

"_Accio Dictionary!" _

Right in front of my disbelieving eyes (he'd used the same hard word that Charlie had), the book flew from Hermione's hands straight to Harry, who caught it and gave her a tired grin. Now it was my turn to rub my eyes – seeing adults do and talk about things I didn't understand was one thing, but seeing kids my own age – _magic -_

"Harry, I really think you've got it!"

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry said simply, rubbing his own eyes. "The Firebolt's going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, it's going to be in the castle, and I'm going to be out there on the grounds…"

"It's doesn't matter," Hermione assured him, looking proud. I, however, was still piecing things together. Harry needed to… magically fly something from the castle out to the dragons tomorrow… was it a weapon? Something he wasn't allowed to bring? My first impression was proving falser and falser. "Just as long as you're concentrating really, really hard on it, it'll come. Harry, we'd better get some sleep…you're going to need it."

And with that, Hermione turned, scooped up a thick-haired ginger cat from a nearby chair, gave a quick wave of goodnight, and disappeared up the staircase to the left.

Harry yawned again, sticking his wand in a pocket. Then he turned to me, awkwardly getting out of the armchair, which seemed determined to sink me further and further in. He didn't seem to notice. "Hermione said you'd be staying up here…" I followed him to the staircase on the right, which spiraled dizzily, but, thankfully, did not move.

Once we started going up the steps, I cringed, the noise alerting Harry. He'd gotten his wand back out, but I didn't remember when, and was pointing it, tip dazzling with light, down the stairs. "Shh…" Mortified, heat rose from my collarbones up my neck. "Uh… actually, that noise was me."

I tried to say it offhandedly, moving my leg to show him. Harry squinted through the darkness and seemed to register what he was looking at. I had to give him credit – his expression hardly even changed. His eyebrows seemed to draw together, but then he turned and continued up the stairs, extinguishing his wand.

We went right up to the very top, to a door marked with 'Fourth Years'. Harry pushed it open blearily, then sat down on the bed directly across from the door. There were four other boys sleeping – a friendly looking, round – faced boy next to the door, a very tall boy with _dark skin_, the red-headed Weasley, and another I hadn't met yet.

Hardly noticing I was staring, I watched the boy with dark skin, wondering. Was this … why was it like that? Was it magic? I'd never seen a human with coloring that didn't look like mine.

When I finally looked back at Harry, he'd taken off his face-glass thing and put it on the bedside table and had disappeared behind the red curtains hanging from the posts of his bed, presumably to sleep in peace. I scanned the room quickly, realizing that some kind person (a 'house-elf'?) had put a cot together for me on the floor in the corner.

Suddenly exhausted, I laid down on something that was, again, softer and squishier than I was accustomed to. It was a thin layer of padding that lay between me and the cold stone floor, and a bigger pad that I couldn't discern the use of, and eventually used to prop my head up, like the other boys did with theirs. Somehow, I figured I slept on something pretty hard back home… but I couldn't really place my finger on it. Too tired to contemplate, I turned, pulled up the blanket, and fell asleep at once.

My dreams were confusing, and the only thing consistent in any of them was a persistent sense of vertigo.


	6. Chapter 6

**I am immensely proud of myself. Despite an absolute overload of things to do, I managed to pump out a chapter only slighlty shorter than memorable Chapter 2. (Both, I understand, are painfully long.) Unfortunately, I don't seem to possess the part of my brain that rules out six-thousand word chapters. I just look for a good ending point. **

**And it's been barely more than a month! On another note, DK's birthday was four days ago! I first published this story on March 13th, 2012. I'm hoping it still won't be going in March 2014. I hope. **

**Oh, and one more thing: to clarify, the mysterious substance Charlie was drinking prior to his 'nap' was Butterbeer, and nothing more sinister than that.**

**Well. Then. Enjoy? Enjoy.**

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><p>Waking abruptly in the early morning, I stared up at the stone ceiling, lit pleasantly by the dawn from a deep-set window above my head. I sat up and turned, expecting to see Toothless curled on his bed across the room, and instead, saw a boy halfway out of bed looking at me with faint alarm.<p>

"Umm…hi…" The boy nodded, regarding me curiously. I looked across the other parts of the room – Charlie's brother had already gone, but the others were getting out of bed and getting dressed. Just before the boy with dark skin left the dormitory, he said over a shoulder, "Good luck, Harry."

Harry didn't respond, sitting on the side of his bed, fully dressed, staring at his hands. One by one, each got up and left, finally Harry. Still surprised at the speed in which they'd all completely dressed (Vikings slept in their clothes) I was sitting on the floor when Harry passed. I gave him a weak smile, but he stared ahead, unseeing.

Quickly, I got to my feet and followed him down the stairs. As Harry appeared at the bottom, a cheer went up from the Gryffindors in the Common Room. He walked straight through them and headed for the back of the portrait, completely ignoring the congratulations from all sides.

It was surprisingly refreshing _not_ to be noticed; I didn't _exactly_ remember the way down to the first floor and so followed Harry at a slight distance, trying to decide what to say to him.

He didn't know about the dragons, did he?

He probably did…the thing he was going to call from outside involved bolting from fire…he had to know. With the level of fanatic preparation he'd been going through, it must have had _some_ base…

Carefully, I drew level with him. "So…um, you know about the dragons?"

This finally seemed to shake Harry from his stupor. "How do you-"

I shrugged. "Uh, well… I… I'm, um, with the keepers…for now – for this-"

He was looking at me curiously, and I said quickly, "Just – whatever you do, stay calm, don't attack, try not to show your wand-"

"What?" His eyes were wide.

"Umm… yeah. The dragon won't panic if you won't. Just – be careful – I'm – I'm sure you'll do okay-"

He nodded, colorless.

When we arrived in the Hall, Harry was greeted with hisses and jeers along with meager applause. Expressionless, Harry sat at the table, served himself something that looked gray and disgusting, and didn't eat. Not desiring to make a scene, I did the same, cautiously spooning the stuff into my mouth.

As I expected, it wasn't pleasant. It was thick and mostly tasteless, but nice and warm. It was also the first thing I'd had to eat since some tentative toast yesterday morning. After a few minutes, Hermione appeared, looking frazzled and nervous, sitting down next to Harry and placing her head on the table.

I mumbled a quick good morning, then got up, hurrying out of the hall and onto the grounds. A few kids were shivering together next to a cabin, looking mutinously at Hagrid, who had them sat at tables and cutting up food for something.

I hurried past, feeling their eyes on me. By the time I reached the dragon enclosures, I was more than ready for this to be over.

Feeling exhausted, I joined Charlie in front of what seemed like hundreds of wizards. Since my last visit, they had put up rows and rows of benches, separated from the arena by a short restraining wall. Wizards were putting up tents, guiding the fabric with their wands so it billowed and took shape.

"We have roughly four hours," Charlie told me. "The First Task starts just after lunch. We have some more work to do-" he motioned to a crate, beckoning me to come closer. I did, and he hefted the top off to show four glimmering, golden dragon eggs.

I gasped. I'd hardly ever seen gold before; it had passed through our port several brief times, but, as a tribe, we hadn't extended our fingers of trade very far, meaning we didn't have the wealth that some of our neighbors did, especially because of our closeness to Helheim's Gate and business with dragon attacks.

I reached out to touch, soaking in the color, the texture. I'd heard about how malleable gold was, how soft. It seemed extraordinary, and glimmered in the morning sunlight. It didn't look very durable.

The egg itself was simply designed – only the color seemed to set it apart from any other dragon's egg I'd ever seen. As I looked closer, however, I realized there was a thin seam on one side, hinges on the other. Presumably, something important was inside.

Charlie was nodding to his keepers and clapping his hands. "Right, folks! So, the champions will choose a dragon and a number for the order of their competition. It's the Welsh Green first, then the Short Snout, Fireball, and Horntail. The cages, as you can see, are outside of the pit. When it's time, we'll lead them-"

"How?" One of the wizards had spoken up, looking puzzled. "Charlie, you know we didn't bring the irons-"

"Yeah, I know." Charlie turned and gave me a huge smile, pulling me over to his side. "That's where Hiccup comes in."

I could tell that some of these men hadn't been there yesterday, watching me work with the dragons. Most were scornful, a few openly laughing. I ground my teeth together and didn't respond.

"So, Hiccup. Why don't you go and take a look? You'll be leading them from there-" he pointed into the side of a tent, behind which came the screeches and roars of the dragons, "to there." He showed me the entrance to the ring, banked by seats on both sides.

"And while the champions take their shot, you'll sit right there." The benches were faded, weather-beaten wood, and he showed me a seat right next to the gate, next to a table with cloth over it and five seats. "Judging table," Charlie explained.

I nodded. Charlie was busy explaining another aspect of the plan to another group, so I wandered off to the dragons by myself.

The Swedish Short Snout had become my favorite yesterday, not only because of her sweet behavior, but reminded me slightly of a Deathly Nadder. As she saw (and heard) my approach, her head perked up and she made a crooning sound.

"Hi," I said, letting myself into the cage to pet her. It had taken only rudimentary investigation for me to realize that none of the dragons had names.

This had left me slightly confused – why would anyone bother with dragons without naming them? But apparently the likes of Charlie and his friends weren't interested in dragons the way I was and didn't seem to realize that they actually had _personalities._

This had also left me with a tiny dilemma – should I name them, or not? The more rational side of me didn't want to get too attached – I'd never see these dragons again after today. It seemed heartless to leave them nameless, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Besides, the one name I'd ever came up with for a dragon wasn't tough or gross [ like Meatlug, BelchBarf, and Hookfang, to name a few] and had endured scorn and teasing from Snotlout and Tuffnut for it. I wasn't about to name another dragon if I didn't have to – besides, I barely knew them, any of them.

The dragons were agitated. Even while I was occupied with the Short Snout, I noticed the others worriedly stamping their feet and snorting fire. That was another difference between Berk's dragons and these things – they breathed fire not only through their mouths, but nostrils, too.

I moved through the dragons, trying to calm them down as well as I could, soothing and helping lift the crates of eggs out of the cages for the keepers to put in the ring, trying my best to explain what I'd need them to do. One thing kept coming back – _I_ wasn't going to hurt them, but what about the _champions? _

Eventually, I finally finished with the dragons and went to my spot in the stands. Three of the champions were already there – the tall boy, who paced anxiously, a girl with silvery blond hair that glimmered in the sunlight, and a hulking, round-shouldered boy who sat at the side, staring at the ground.

Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen.

A man with striped yellow and black robes bounced toward them – "Champions this way, please!" and led the three, all looking like they were about to throw up.

The First Task.

I couldn't decide who had more on the line – me or the champions. They would be facing _dragons,_ and although they didn't have the same kind of understanding of dragons that I did - personal experience - they did have _magic._

In failure, they had not only angry dragons to look forward to, but public humiliation, ridicule, and social discomfort. Stress was running high; the tall boy had resumed his pacing inside the Champions' tent, and I watched his silhouette ripple across the fabric.

Although I didn't know any of them, I couldn't help but feel sympathy - I'd faced similar situations with identical consequences.

Oh yeah, except without the magic.

I had a slight inclination to pull for Harry – he was Hermione's friend, the only one I'd actually met, he hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, and he was the obvious underdog. Having been one myself for so long, I reasoned, it was only natural to side with him.

I was still waiting anxiously, though, for this whole ordeal to be over so I could talk to Dumbledore and demand another boot right back home – the one a thousand years ago, preferably.

Finally, a tall, regal woman led Harry Potter past. His hand was slowly turning white from clutching his wand so hard, staring straight ahead, looking lost. She showed him into the tent, then sat herself down next to the judge's table, twisting her hands and pressing her lips into a very thin line.

I listened as hundreds of students walked down to the dragon enclosures – I could easily hear them coming, tramping against the hard-packed dirt, all chattering excitedly and laughing loudly, obviously excited to see what the champions would do.

If I was honest with myself, I was almost as eager to see how they were going to deal with the dragons… who weren't exactly going to be _pleased_ at a tiny invader determined to steal one of their eggs… Of course, I knew what I would do if I was in their position. But how would a kid wizard do it? Would magic even have an effect on the outcome?

The man with the weird striped robes practically bounced into the tent. I watched interestedly as their silhouettes gathered around him. He seemed to be holding something out to them. One by one they reached into the small shadow and drew something out in their hands. I was still trying to figure out what they were doing when the man suddenly appeared with Harry following gingerly.

I leaned all the way over my seat to look. The two of them had stopped at the treeline. Harry was looking confused, while the wizard raised his eyebrows and gestured. Harry stepped back; the other bent to his level. From what I could see, he seemed to be offering help that Harry refused.

I was just about to get up for a better look when the stern witch across the aisle frowned at me and shook her head. Quickly, I withdrew to face the front as an inexplicable, shrill sound – a little like a Night Fury's warning scream – pierced the wintery air around us. The black-and-yellow wizard hurried past, turned right in front of me and began ascending the stands.

The taller of the two champions was coming out of the tent just as Harry slipped back in. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I kicked at the dirt in front of me, hoping upon hope that I wouldn't be needed. As soon as this was over, I could go back to Berk.

As his tall profile passed me into the view of the hundreds of spectators, a humongous roar rose from the stands. I cringed, but whatever aural discomfort I was experiencing was nothing to the nervousness that had descended upon the first champion.

He was clutching his wand so tightly it was bending a little. All the color had drained from his face, leaving him looking weak and sick, but he walked into the center of the circle. A man's voice, too loud, rang around the stands. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your first champion, Cedric Diggory!"

The Welsh Green was being led beside me, her neck shackled and gripped by a dozen keepers. Her eye blinked slowly in recognition as she passed, and I gave her a grim smile.

Then her collar banged open and she leaped across half the arena, landing carefully among her eggs, crouching over them and staring menacingly at Cedric.

He took a quick look at the crowd, who screamed and cheered his name. A few with green banners had begun a chant. "Support Cedric Diggory! Support Cedric Diggory! Support Cedric Diggory!" Carefully, he edged his way along the rim of the ring, keeping the Welsh Green in his sights.

I leaned forward, trying to predict his next move. Would he try to distract her, or go for a direct attack? How would an attack work with magic, anyway? Or would he drop his wand and do something completely unexpected?

The distraction technique proved to be his plan. Carefully balanced on the balls of his feet, Cedric was leaning over a medium-sized rock near the middle of the ring, close to the dragon. He was moving his wand in a pattern, his face slowly turning red with concentration.

The dragon flamed at him, almost curiously. The crowd didn't see it this way. They roared and screeched abuse at her. Irritation soured my tongue. Could these people understand nothing? The dragons were victims in this too, just like Harry and I. Cedric jumped back just in time, the yellow-orange wall of fire shooting past and withering the hem of his sleeve.

"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow-" the same voice echoed from somewhere above, shouting with excitement. Biting my lip, I half-stood, ready to intercede, but Cedric had retreated farther back and begun his same process over again, with a fevered intensity.

I paused, wondering what he was doing. Suddenly, the rock wasn't a rock anymore. It was _changing._ Right in front of my eyes, the craggy shape was growing and smoothing out into a glossy blonde; a neck was elongating and four legs were extending from the body. The animal made some sort of noise and bounded forward, straight at the dragon.

I gasped. The only kinds of dogs I'd seen before were sledding dogs, used by the mainland tribes for transportation, and, often, delicacy. We didn't have any on Berk because once Devastating Winter had come around the year we'd tried them, they had been reduced to highly ineffectual transportation that spent all of its time huddled by the fire. But even in Winter, none of them had been stupid enough to charge a dragon.

Now that I thought about it, almost every kind of creature had too much self-preservation to do that. Except a Viking, that is.

The dog was quick – faster than a boar, even. It darted forward and then back, quickly, as the dragon attempted to take a bite. While she was occupied, Cedric sprinted around the other direction to the back of the dragon, which thrashed with impatience.

"He's taking risks, this one!" Cedric had taken a heavy blow to the shoulder by the thick green tail. Abandoning his caution, he ran forward, around her left side. The Welsh Green had lost interest in the golden dog. Suddenly realizing Cedric's proximity, she screamed and tried to squish him.

He barely got away, stumbling in his haste. "Oh, clever move - pity it didn't work!"

I could tell that we had reached the endgame – Cedric was fed up, and so was the dragon. This was going to end within the next few minutes, one way or another. I didn't remember standing up, but I teetered on the edge of action. Suddenly, there were heavy, hot flames in the middle of the ring and a masculine yell. Coughing, Cedric emerged from the steam and took a quick glance around, pressing one arm to the side of his body.

The side of his face was already blistering, set in a grimace of determination. He dodged another blast of fire and was running, and suddenly I was too.

He dove, sliding through the real eggs toward a glimmer of gold underneath her body. He cradled it in his arm and ducked his head in preparation for a deathblow as I came closer – there was no way I'd be in time –

She was inhaling, ready to snort flame. "STOP!" At my shout, her head flared up and exhaled toward me instead.

I threw myself down, ducking the heat. The crowd was roaring in triumph, screaming their delight at their champion's success – no one seemed to have noticed that the battle hadn't stopped. Carefully, I peered over the rock at the Welsh Green. Keepers had streamed into the ring, ushering Cedric away and preparing to restrain the beast.

I approached more slowly now, giving a ginger smile. "C'mon, girl, you remember me, don't you?" She blinked as I neared touching distance. Hesitantly, she lowered her head to more properly examine me, looking less and less enraged by the second. Emboldened, I reached out to rub her face.

The transformation was immediate: her eyes softened and she licked my sleeve. The nearest keeper was staring at me with his mouth hanging open, disbelieving. "Okay," I said. No one responded. "Okay!" I repeated, louder. "The next one is the Swedish Short Snout, right? Bring her to me."

This jolted a few of them into action. Much calmer now, the Welsh Green allowed herself to be led away, looking forlorn, as the crowd's volume peaked. I turned quickly, wondering _what_ had crept up behind me, but the occupants of the table I'd been sitting next to had caused it: each was holding up their wand, supporting a silvery shape I didn't recognize. "Very good indeed! And now the marks from our judges!"

It took me a minute to understand what was so important about it – they were _numbers._ I'd seen something like them from Trader Johann: they were a numerical system from the Very Far East, way beyond the Barbaric Archipelago. I didn't know what they meant, but the crowd was still shrieking, so it must have been good.

The Short Snout was led to the opening. The girl with the silvery-white hair exited the champion's tent with dignity, her hair rippling behind her. As she passed, a spotty half-silence seemed to come across the crowd, as though several had lost their voices.

Curious, I shot a glance behind me. Boys were staring, following her every move. Not every boy, but a good amount. They were blinking and leaning over the seat backs. I turned, wondering what was so spectacular about her – and then it hit me.

_Her hair was white gold._ It had to be the reason. Like Sif, someone had replaced her natural hair with that made of metal. Completely understanding the fascination now, I stared as well. She tossed it and swallowed, holding her wand tightly. I watched it move in the wind, entranced by whatever magical goldsmith had made _that._

The same high noise went off again, and the voice cried from above, "One down, three to go! Miss Delacour, if you please!"

She swallowed again and stepped out into the arena. Unlike Cedric, she began at once, walking toward the dragon with her wand raised.

I wasn't in my seat. Instead, I stood on my toes at the opposite side, watching from behind the Short Snout as she approached. The dragon twitched, using her tail to bring several of her eggs closer to her – including the golden one.

I wasn't the only one to notice. The girl took a deep breath and held out her wand, lips moving. I couldn't hear what she was saying over the whistles and clapping from the crowd, but it seemed to be having a very strange effect on the dragon.

I watched in amazement as each muscle relaxed, one by one. Carefully, I edged a few feet to the left to try and get a look at the dragon's face.

It was _sleeping._ The eyelids fluttered dazedly, and she snorted slightly. The girl ran forward, keeping her wand above her, still enchanting it. Just as she neared her front, one of the Short Snout's knees buckled. The girl gave a high-pitched gasp and shielded her face – "Oh, I'm not sure that was wise!" – and I tripped forward, but the Short Snout had managed to catch herself; Fleur Delacour scrambled away.

Obviously determined, she clenched her hands and went for another go. This time, even I wasn't prepared for what happened – the Short Snout _snored._

It was quite possibly the weirdest sound I'd ever heard – somewhere between a Gronkle choking on an overlarge rock and a squealing Terrible Terror – and flames shot out the nostrils, searing the ground all around Fleur.

The crowd gasped. "Oh, nearly! Careful now…good lord, I thought she'd had it then!" I squinted, trying to see, and realized that Fleur, like Cedric, was on fire. Her skirt was being eaten by flames; the shimmery blue material was blackening quickly. In my periphery, several of the keepers twitched, obviously ready to go in.

Somehow, though, she'd wrangled the fire under control. She was moving her wand over the fire rapidly, and _water _was coming out the tip. I blinked slowly, trying to understand. Maybe I'd been stupid, but I'd never noticed until that moment how useful magic could be for_ us: _normal people. I was baffled; how many times had I seen the others struggle with the water brigade; how many times did our houses go down in flames?

So many burns, so many heirlooms gone… it could have all been avoided. I shook myself out of the daze. It was no use; dragons didn't bother us anymore. Everything was fine. We were… Vikings. Everyone could handle a few fires.

Dripping wet, Fleur Delacour seemed to have finally reached the end of her rope. While the Short Snout lolled, she kept a close eye on the wide, steaming nostrils, while walking quickly toward the back. This time, she put up no resistance, and Fleur scurried in, scooped up the egg, and retreated, breathing hard.

The crowd screamed its excitement as the Short Snout was herded away. "You did great, girl," I muttered to myself, thinking of the spell she had put on it. Wizards wouldn't do that to _people_, would they?

The Short Snout was replaced with the Chinese Fireball, who kept flexing her neck spikes and looking furious at the indignity of it all. "And here comes Mr. Krum!"

Rounded shoulders down, the third champion appeared at the entrance opposite me.

The Fireball shrieked. Krum stayed put. Unlike the other two – who had seemed to gain energy from the crowd, in a way – he seemed entirely unaffected.

It was just him and the Fireball.

He was gauging the situation. I could see his dark eyes flicking around the entire enclosure. Then he moved.

His wand came out so quickly I barely saw it. He aimed and said something, and in that moment, the air exploded. It took me a minute to realize that it hadn't been a detonation: the Fireball was _screaming._

I'd never heard a dragon make a sound like that before. Much of the crowd was clamping hands over ears; "Very daring!"; a few of the girls had covered their eyes or their mouths. I blinked hard, willing my ears to withstand the noise. Even dragons I'd seen killed hadn't caterwauled like this.

What could he have possibly done to it that was worse than a sword through its chest?

The answer was obvious.

Magic.

It didn't just make water and dogs from rocks, and it was clearly causing her unimaginable pain. I winced.

The Chinese Fireball was rearing on two legs, wings flaring sporadically. It was losing its balance, breathing long tongues of fire in every direction and falling backward on her own eggs. I was still watching the dragon writhe and scream when the crowd leapt to its feet, ("That's some nerve he's showing – and – yes, he's got the egg!") and Krum rolled out of the way of the trampling feet.

Curiosity overwhelming my horror, I darted to the Fireball. Her left eye was a garish, unhealthy shade of pink-red; welts crisscrossed the eyeball and merged into rashes on the scaly skin; I had to gulp back my revulsion. "What did he _do_ to you?" I whispered, carefully feeling the wound; my hand came back covered in a sick-smelling yellow fluid.

Gingerly, I wiped it on my tunic. The high noise went off for the fourth and last time, and I grabbed the Chinese Fireball by one of the neck spikes, carefully leading her off. The Hungarian Horntail was barreling into place, straining against her keepers.

On the opposite side, Harry stood fidgeting at the entrance to the ring.

Unfortunately for him, she was in a really terrible mood. My leg had started to ache and I'd reclaimed my seat, so it was from there I noticed the angry gleam in her yellow eyes as she was led past me.

I watched her calm subtly when reunited with her eggs, squatting lowly over them, unaware of the golden one right between her forelegs.

But when she saw Harry, all that changed. Her tail twitched, gouging deeply into the hard, cold ground. Her eyes narrowed, but, strangely, her pupils remained exactly the same.

Had I… imagined it? Somehow, it seemed to me that with her vexation, her long, vertical pupils should click, suddenly, to thin black lines…

I shook my head – her pupils were like humans', only responsive to light and recent head trauma.

So why did flexible pupils seem so… normal?

It was a second before it hit me – _Toothless'_ pupils did that. They widened with his pleasure and excitement and became thin black threads bisecting angry green when irritated or determined. Feeling slightly nauseas, I attempted to return my attention to the Task.

The crowd was strangely quiet as Harry stepped into the light, legs shaking and whiter than snow. Several people in the crowd cheered, but others had started a chant: "Potter stinks! Potter stinks! Potter stinks!"

He swallowed. The audience seemed to be holding its breath in a way it hadn't done before.

I crossed my fingers. _Please don't do anything stupid_, I begged, hoping he remembered the advice I'd given him. Don't engage, don't engage, don't engage…

He didn't.

Instead, he raised his wand. "_Accio Firebolt!"_ Mutters raced through the stands. Unlike the other champions, who had kept their incantations quiet, Harry had roared his, whether out of desperation or something else.

Nothing happened. I could see his legs tense beneath his robes, bouncing slightly on his ankles. He was trembling. I'd seen this reaction before: when faced with a dragon, options of flight became slim.

And before I'd even realized something happened, Harry was airborne.

It was inarguably one of the most awkward things I'd ever seen. He was _flying_ – one leg on either side of a long rod with an oddly-textured triangle of…stuff at the end, sitting and balancing apparently comfortably on it and gaining altitude.

The speed was incredible – he had to be at least twice as fast as Toothless and I, maybe less during a dive due to our mass. His robes streamed behind him as he dove. I caught my breath as the Horntail flamed experimentally.

It just missed him, ruffling his hair as it went over his head and dissipated – luckily. I hadn't realized until just then about the fire: it lacked the same kind of weight…substance - that I was used to. These dragons breathed pure heat, flames like ones you might find in a fire pit, instead of spitting up lava or molten rocks.

My fingernails dug into my palms. Harry shot upward again, almost too fast to track. Unlike a dragon, where you could usually read their intention by the way their bodies moved – the position of their legs, the angle of their wings – Harry was unpredictable. His flying rod appeared to need no prompting, and there was no way to tell _what _he was about to do.

He circled. "Great Scott, he can fly," shouted the voice in ecstasy. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"

The Horntail was following his ascent, her long head revolving unsteadily. I felt a pang of sympathy – although none of the champions had _intended_ this, it still felt wrong; baiting.

And it was never good to push your luck with a dragon.

Harry discovered this fact for himself as well. Dropping to avoid another blast of exasperated fire, the thickly spiked tail whipped around to him as the dragon raged.

It clipped his shoulder and smacked into the ground with an echoing thud. The crowd gasped. "Close," yelled the voice. Immediately, Harry rolled to the left with the momentum, a hugely better reaction than any of the previous attackers. At least – I hoped – the spikes weren't poisonous.

The Horntail gave another scream of rage, eager to do away with this petty human once and for all. But from the ground, she stood no chance. She had to make a choice – leave her eggs unguarded from someone who posed an uncertain threat in order to take him out, or stay with her eggs and deal with the annoyance.

It appeared Harry had reached the same conclusion. He was going higher. The determination on his face – the set of his jaw, his eyebrows – made it plain. He drifted barely out of reach, dropped back down and then sharply retreated, each time eliciting a stronger roar of impatience.

She was watching him closely, stretching her neck in order to see him at all times. He floated higher, and her tail thrashed angrily. She spit fire, which he moved to accommodate – his flexibility was unbelievable. She opened her mouth, baring her fangs, and flexed her wings, dry scales rustling as she reared her heavy body in preparation to take off.

Suddenly, I knew what he was about to do.

He dove. Before she'd gained even an inch of height, Harry had shot forward, coming in at a dangerous, careening angle. There was no way he was going to make it. He passed me so quickly he was just a blur; and I watched, mouth hanging open, as he dived right between the dragon's legs and grabbed the golden egg.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, again. It hasn't been too long, has it? I don't think so...I, again, had trouble with this chapter. This is quite a behemoth I've gotten myself into. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The crowd was making more noise than I'd ever heard in my life. Someone behind me was making a clicking noise and projecting bright white light that flashed like lightning.<p>

"Look at that! Will you look at that!" The loud voice was jubilant, screaming with excitement. "Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this will shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!"

Harry was taking a much slower victory lap, one arm clutching the handle of his rod, the egg tucked safely under the other. For the first time since I'd met him, he was smiling. It seemed to take years off his face; the tight, panicked look from the past few days had disappeared. Suddenly, he was my age.

Just as he touched down, I reached the Horntail, who was thrashing and biting everything within reach. She flamed at me, shrieking her fury at Harry's escape. Resisting the urge to laugh, I sidestepped the fire and rubbed her nose, grinning.

"G'job, girl," I muttered. "You'll be giving him nightmares."

"OI! Over here!" Charlie's voice bounced against the trees. I turned to see him waving at Harry and pointing up at the castle. A huddle of keepers was standing near him; four of them ran out to me and collared the Horntail.

"What?"

"We're packing up," he shouted. "C'mon, let's go! We're burning daylight, here. We've got to be in Romania by nightfall, and our first portkey leaves in an hour."

It passed quickly. The dragons were subdued, returned to their cages. The ground was magically restored to its whole, unmarked state from before the dragons had wreaked their havoc on it. Burns erased. The deep scars in the dirt were smoothed out.

I watched as Charlie held out something to a bird, which hopped down from a tree, grabbed it up in its talons, and winged away. He lifted a hand in greeting to me, keeping a hand on the Short Snout's cage. I started to say goodbye, but he was gone.

I was returning to the arena in search of my way back home when I met Harry and Ron, lagging a good deal behind the rest of the school and having a fast-paced discussion of the details of the other champions' performances.

"You'd have thought he would have done something a little more creative," Ron was saying sadly. "I mean, you completely upstaged him at his own game. He's never going to hear the end of _this_-" He swallowed, grinning. "I mean, his _career-"_

Harry was nodding when he spotted me, his face lighting up. "Hey, Hiccup!"

"Excuse you?"

I almost laughed at the look on Ron's face. "Oh, so _you're_ that kid-"

"Have either of you seen-"

"Did you see the Task, Hiccup?" Harry's eyes were bright, and he was grinning. There was a long, clean slice in the shoulder of his robes, but no scratch underneath. He was holding the rod – which, upon closer inspection, was revealed to be highly shiny and obviously well taken care of – in one hand, wand in the other.

"Umm, yeah. You did good."

"Ron was just telling me about what the others did – but you had a better seat, right up front, didn't you? What happened?"

"Oh. Um. I'm not really sure. I don't really understand-"

"Yeah," Ron agreed enthusiastically. "I didn't see all too well – you got a better view?"

"Uh. Sorta. But I don't-"

"Was it bad from up close? Diggory's burn?" Ron was looking at me eagerly.

"Umm. Well. I've seen worse, but, uh, yeah. It was pretty bad. His face is all-" I gestured to the side of my face, showing them where Cedric had been burned.

"Yeah, I saw it," said Harry, seemingly unconcerned. "He looks fine now, though. Madam Pomfrey fixed him up."

Not even pretending to understand, I asked, "What do you-"

Ron's answer was maddening, if predictable, and accompanied by an incredulous look. "_Magic_."

.

For some reason, the walk up to the castle seemed a lot faster accompanied by a chattering Harry and Ron, obviously enjoying each other's company.

And the weird part: they _included _me. Ron was genuinely curious about what I'd been doing ("Oh. Um. Nothing.) why I was in the front seat ("I…got to…because."), why I wasn't dressed in robes ("Huh? Oh, those _things. _Um, No one _told_ me…") and how I'd lost my leg: ("I'd _love_ to know the answer to that question myself, actually…")

Harry had described in great detail exactly what he'd done and how while getting the golden egg. I listened interestedly, adding in bits of my own observations of what the other champions had done as Ron chronicled them. They went through the castle at an excited speed, finding their way to Gryffindor Tower almost unconsciously.

Hermione met them at the portrait, who gave a little sniff when we went in. Harry rushed up the stairs to deposit the egg and returned with a rolled-up paper in an unusually pale shade and an exotic-looking quill. Then, still talking quickly with Ron, he led the way out of the tower again.

The three of them engaged in less inclusive conversation on the way up, discussing in great depth and detail a man named Karkaroff and some accusations someone had made about him from an apparently trusted source they referred to only as "Snuffles."

Ron had started out skeptically that the man Karkaroff had ever had the ability to "eat death" (the twins were going to love that) but soon overcame his surprise and became very cynical about it. As for me, I walked slightly behind them, trying to keep up with the conversation and failing spectacularly.

It came as a jolt when I realized that the tower we'd been going to was a central hub for owls. Owls of all shapes and sizes and colors, dozens of breeds I'd never seen before, roosted in perches of varying heights all around the tower.

And apparently wizards used them to send _messages._

I stood with my mouth open, staring. Harry slid down against one of the walls for a few minutes and concentrated on writing a hasty letter – to Snuffles – while Ron grabbed a tiny owl, barely the size of a child's club and held him still in a fist.

Harry stood, brushing himself off from the numerous owl droppings on the ground and went over to Ron to tie the still-wet roll to the owl's feet.

A sudden idea hit me straight between the eyes, leaving me gasping and gaping at this apparently ordinary endeavor - _we _could do something similar with _Terrible Terrors._

"There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron crossed to one of the large windows and stood next to it, keeping a tight grip on the squirming owl. "You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I'm serious."

Did he? Was Harry really that…good? Were the _chances_ that good? Without a doubt, Harry had performed the best out of all the champions (although a great deal more brutal, the mentality reminded me a lot of the Thawfest games, of which I'd won exactly none) and displayed easily the most natural responses. He could make it, I thought.

Harry didn't seem to take the comment seriously, shrugging. Hermione, however, did. "Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament," she frowned. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

In "Scotland" did they start out bad and progress to worse? Their idea of logical progression was understandable, unless they were going for the roundabout tactic of hitting hard and withdrawing. It could even be the plan to hit hard first, withdraw for the second task and batter again for the third. Or maybe they'd just follow through with two more tasks of equal difficulty.

No matter which, it appeared that Harry (and everyone) was in for a rough ride.

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Ron said, rolling his eyes at me and chucking the owl out the window. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."

Unable to resist – too many things had slipped past my understanding by this point – I asked, "Uh, Professor Treelawney?"

"Divination Teacher," Hermione explained, looking distasteful, as if this tidbit of information actually helped.

The little owl was floundering. Seized by a sudden desire to watch its little non-reptilian wings in action, I leaned out the window as far as I could, watching it buffeted by the wind. The letter was throwing off its flight pattern. I cringed, but as the others turned away, the little messenger regained its balance and flew off.

"Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry," Ron remarked casually, holding the door open for us. "Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

Resisting the urge to laugh, I followed.

.

The food was amazing. Not only was it ordinary-ish food, but a number of magical treats and candies were served as well. Ron, who had somewhat readily swallowed the reason I'd come (to learn a little about wandwork in action) and seemed to have taken me under his wing as for explaining the different things. In a few days, I predicted, I would become just as proficient as he was at determining a Fudge Fly from a Licorice Wand.

First, though, Ron and Hermione had taken me up to the dormitory. Hermione had waited outside while Ron showed me some spare robes of his, and upon her reentrance Hermione had done a convenient tailoring job on the seams with her wand.

"Oh, it's good you're so short, Hiccup," she said gratefully, stepping back to inspect how the robes sat on me. "I don't know a charm for lengthening, but…" and with a careful flick, she took the hem up an extra inch.

"I do what I can," I shrugged.

My first attempt down the stairs, though, was anything but good. The spring in my leg caught on the fabric, pitching me forward. Hermione gasped and I would have gone right down the hard stone steps if Ron hadn't grabbed my arm and hauled me back.

"Whoa. Umm, maybe this isn't, like, a good idea," I suggested hesitantly, although the idea of being further gawked at for my clothes was almost as unappetizing as tripping all over the place.

Hermione thought for a moment, then helped cut off more of the left of the robe and joined it together with magic until it made an okay socket to fasten my leg over. Feeling more impatient than awkward, I did it quickly, trying to ignore the (disbelieving and slightly panicky) looks Ron was shooting at Hermione, then hurried back down.

We arrived just in time to see a boy spill a plate of food all over the floor and exclaim tremblingly at Harry, "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

Harry didn't appear worried and didn't respond as one of the identical Weasley twins called from a few feet away, "Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal. They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing…maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry."

Harry did, however, have a grin for this, and I watched interestedly (if confusedly) as the other twin turned around and held out a plate to the two of us, addressing Hermione. "Want a jam tart, you two?"

Hermione looked at me, then at the plate. "It's all right," the twin assured her. "I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch-"

The boy who had dropped the plate of rolls made a horrible noise and spat out whatever he'd been eating. Hermione and the twin (Fred) had what started out as a pleasant discussion but devolved into an argument about house elves, for which Hermione seemed to have a strange interest.

Shortly after, Neville turned into a bird (shocking my so thoroughly Hermione had me sit down), the Weasley twins hawked at the crowd, and, having no interest in the rest of the proceedings (the words "Canary Cream" meant nothing to me) I ended up going to bed significantly earlier than the rest of them.

Feeling slightly disoriented and vaguely lonely, I dragged my makeshift bed to the wall and sat against it, paging through my notebook, hoping it would help a little to ground me. These people, this time…as much as I was fascinated, I was confused. I would always be out of place, no matter where I went. As always, it went from complex diagrams of various inventions and weapons to detailed drawings and rude sketches of Toothless and his things.

I stopped on the very first drawing of Toothless I'd ever made. Heart heavy, I touched the left tailfin, squinting to see the faint lines I'd dashed there, and then the black smudges I'd rubbed them into. Clearly outlined over the mess was another drawing of another tail.

I exhaled, staring at the charcoal lines without really seeing them. Were diagrams really all I had left of him? A horrible twinge reminded me not. I moved the notebook slightly so I could see the worn and beaten iron foot where my toes should have been.

When I finally did fall asleep, I was still gripping the battered old page between my finger and thumb.

.

The rest of the boys were gone in the morning when I woke up. My neck ached from my position and my eyes were gritty. My skin was strangely dry as well, and it took me a second to realize that the ever-present sea moisture on Berk was absent here.

In slight wonderment, I got to my feet, curious as to why I'd woken so suddenly. As I passed Harry's bed on the way out, the answer became immediately, conspicuously obvious.

There was a little version of a Hungarian Horntail on his bedside table, flexing its miniscule wings and belching little flames into the air, making a squealing that harmonized nicely with the crisp burning of Ron's curtains.

Not panicking in the slightest, I crossed to the window, where a pitcher of water rested, and returned to the bed, dumping its contents successfully and creating a thin grey smoke.

"Oh, come on, girl," I grinned at the dragon, and then slipped her in my pocket.


	8. Chapter 8

**I know what you're thinking. "_Another_ six-thousand word chapter? Astrid, come _on!_" **

**But the last two scenes have been written for over a year, actually, and they belong in the same chapter. I couldn't resist. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>I managed to catch up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione just as they were coming out of the Great Hall, turning to meet me halfway up the marble staircase.<p>

"Oh, good morning, Hiccup," Hermione said, handing me a piece of toast as she let Harry and Ron go ahead and giving me enough room to walk with her. "I was just coming to wake you up. We're on our way to Charms – are you coming?"

Very interested, I took the toast and followed. "Oh, yeah. Count me in. What's Charms?"

She smiled and said immediately, "The study of adding properties to objects or people," while rubbing her eyes. They were bloodshot and had tender-looking blue and yellow bruises underneath.

"Hey, are you okay…?"

"Huh?" She yawned. "Oh? I'm fine. I've just been staying up too late helping Harry for the First Task. I really hope he takes the proper time to prepare for the second one…" She sighed. "I don't think he will, though. He procrastinates _everything."_

I nodded as Harry and Ron turned a sharp right and clattered up another flight of stairs. Hermione shrugged under the weight of her heavy satchel, laden with books, and, presumably, more of that roll-stuff, and I became distinctly aware that I was probably the only person in the entire school who didn't have something to carry. I touched my pocket absently and was surprised by the warmth of the little Horntail, who woke at my touch and hissed.

"Shh," I whispered at my pocket, and I barely registered Hermione looking inquisitively at me before Harry and Ron took an unexpected right directly through a tapestry and I walked straight into the wall.

"Hiccup?" Hermione gasped, holding a horrified hand over her mouth.

A little dazed, I took a step back. "Umm, what happened?"

"Not this way, dearie," said a strangely muffled voice from within the wall. "Go around to the statue of Uric the Odd on the sixth floor. Only way to-"

"Oh, come on," snapped Hermione, pounding at the stone, behind which, I assumed, were Harry and Ron, safe and sound. "It's a door," Hermione explained over her shoulder while fishing behind the tapestry for something. "It's just _pretending _to be a solid wall. See?"

An armful of tapestry coughing puffs of dust into her face, Hermione looked at the wall and stepped primly through the wall and into the hallway beyond. "It's okay! If you walk through, it _has_ to let you. Lift up the tapestry and look for the doorknob!"

"Yeah, I'll try," I called back to her. "Umm, don't hedge any bets, though."

"You'll do fine," her voice assured me, sounding unconvinced.

Not sure whether I should laugh or sit down in complete confusion, I carefully lifted the thick tapestry away from the wall.

Well, it _looked_ like a wall. It was identical to the wall right next to it in every way – dusty, gray, and bricked with what was obviously magic, for lack of precision. I reached up to it and felt – and it wasn't the same texture, the cool hardness of the stone a few inches away.

It felt… like wood. I stared at it. How could something _feel_ like wood and _look_ like rock? Deciding to pick my battles, I felt along the left side until I reached a spherical thing. I pulled at it. Nothing happened. "Do I push it?" I asked the wall.

It sniffed at me.

I pushed. I tried pulling again. I bent down and stared at it, wondering why a good, sturdy handle had gone out of style in the past thousand years.

Unless you…

I twisted the knob.

There was a mechanical _click_, and I pushed the door open. Hermione was standing only an inch away, and I banged her in the forehead. "Oh! Sorry!"

"Come on," she said quickly, shaking her head and grabbing my wrist. "If you don't _run,_ we're going to be late."

.

We very nearly were. An alarm bell rang the second after we'd scooted in the door, and Hermione had to pull my wrist to direct me the right way – we were the last to arrive, and the only seat was a double-table thing right up front.

Hermione slid into the right side of the desk, surprising me with her consideration. I sat down on the left as Hermione heaved a heavy book onto the table and gathered her notes and a wizard – presumably the instructor – stepped out into the front of the room.

He was, without a doubt, the smallest fully-grown human being I'd ever set eyes on in my entire life. He was _so small._ He was almost childlike in proportions. He was… I stared at him, baffled. It was kind of amazing and kind of creepy, I decided.

He had a kind, squeaky voice as well, I discovered, as he went up to a big green-black slab on the wall and tapped his wand on it. White words appeared in the wizard runes while the teacher greeted the first class of the morning. "Revision," he announced. "We finished with the learning of the Summoning Charm last week, but a little revision never hurt anyone! I still hear some of you mispronouncing! Say it with me: _Accio!_ As you all know, it's bound to come up on the O.W.L.'s, which are fast approaching…"

"Those aren't until our fifth year," one of the boys said in a horrified whisper to his friend. "Can't we just focus on the holiday _now?"_

"Remember the incantation and pronunciation…" the little wizard gestured for us to rise. Feeling slight foreboding, I did so and had barely taken one step when Hermione dropped her bag into my arms, gathering the books and things she'd taken out off the table. With one leisurely sweep of the professor's wand, the desks all arranged themselves in rows ringing the room, and he pointed at the cabinets, pillows and cushions of all sorts springing out onto the floor.

"Excellent," came Ron's voice from behind me. I spent most of the rest of the class watching as they said _'Accio_' – which I'd deduced was the same "spell" I'd seen the keepers use several times. Unsurprisingly, Hermione proved easily to be the most adept: everything she flicked her wand at came immediately to her. It was only the catching that had her stumped; she winced when a wooden block topped with soft black stuff hit her in the arm.

I managed to catch it and prevent it from bouncing away. "Whoa! Maybe you could, like, tone it down?" She looked at me slowly, and the next time, when she waved her wand carefully and pronounced the _Accio _more like _Ack-e-oh,_ the spyglass zoomed straight into her hand.

Harry, on the other hand, was grinning and seemingly enjoying his newfound skill at this particular task. "Well, now we know what to do when I can't learn a spell," he said to Hermione. "Threaten me with a dragon." She laughed.

His hand-eye coordination, too, was unfoundedly excellent. He didn't miss a single object he Summoned; each was snatched with a well-placed hand. As I watched him, I noticed Ron watching him as well. Unlike my astonishment and admiration, however (my clumsiness, as we all know, had gotten me into too many tight spots to count, most notable of which was me _getting_ there), Ron's gaze was filled with spite, contempt, and envy. _He_ obviously hadn't gotten over whatever he and Harry had been fighting about as quickly as Harry himself had.

When he saw me watching him, though, Ron gave me a quick smile and returned his attention to his own work.

.

Hermione was thrilled by the end of her class. "How did you think of that? It was brilliant!" She pushed open the door to the Great Hall, looking back eagerly at me. I shrugged and smiled. "To even _say_ the spell more slowly-"

We sat at the far end of the table, Ron reaching out to serve himself some gloppy white stuff and a few chicken drumsticks. He nodded at me and handed me the ladle; I splashed it all over my plate.

"Um. Oops." Hermione, whom I'd expected to be exasperated, merely rolled her eyes and began to clean it up with her wand.

I wanted to help but at the same time didn't want to get in the way; I settled for taking a tiny spoonful and asking, "What is this?"

"Mashed potatoes," she answered, not focusing on me.

All the breath whooshed out of my body. "_The-Vegetable-That-No-One-Dares-Name?"_

I didn't have much time to ruminate on this in the astonishment it deserved, (or Hermione's stifled giggles and wide eyes), however.

"What is this? Filthy Squib can't even keep the food on his _plate_! Really, Granger, and I'd thought you couldn't pick worse company. Weasel, Potty."

A horribly cold, snotty voice was speaking from a very short distance away from my head. I looked up, moving my hand away from the ladle. A boy's face was leering over me with a very (sadly) familiar type of smirk. His whitish blond hair was slicked back, and his eyes were unkindly gray and narrowed in malice.

"Malfoy," snapped Ron from across the table, standing up, as Hermione hissed in a pitch so high it was almost singing, "_Ignore him!"_

I tipped my head up to look at my antagonizer, heart pounding. _I've stood up to worse,_ I assured myself. Snotlout…and the Big Dragon, not to mention my father. But while each had their own physical merits, none of my former adversities had had _magic._

"I heard about you from the Ministry," said the boy, stretching out each nasty syllable in a way that could only be described as _drawling._ "Hogwarts sure did feel the heat from that illegal Portkey! What's next? The poor little champions couldn't stand facing a few dragons without a little boy to stand between them! Oooh!"

I closed my eyes and tried to remain impassive as Malfoy's hand shot out and he grabbed me by my collar. Unresisting, he tugged me to my feet, one of which got stuck to the bench from my awkward positioning and made me stumble enough to make him drop me.

"Oh, God, what _is_ that? Don't tell me, Potter, your little Squib friend's so backward he's still flailing in medicine from the Dark Ages!"

"Get out of here, Malfoy," said Harry calmly, standing as well and grabbing a fistful of Ron's shoulder.

"Oh, look," called the boy, motioning to one of his thugs to move the bench Hermione was sitting on so they could drag me out. "This kid's missing a _leg!"_

Gasps echoed through the Hall; most of them girls. A few of the boys, too, had grabbed at their mouths, and tears were blinking furiously out of the corners of Hermione's eyes. Snickers caught like pox; soon, the entire Slytherin house was roaring. Some of the others Houses were giggling too, snorting into their sleeves.

The prevailing emotion appeared, however, to be _confusion._

Why, though? Had no one _really_ seen someone with a missing limb before? Why was it confusing? Why in Midgard was it positively _hilarious?_

Ron stood up and reached for his wand. "You let go of him, Malfoy, or I swear I'll-"

Malfoy interrupted. "What, Weasel? You gonna curse me?" He pulled me back a foot, the bench tipping. Hermione gasped and slid a few inches, knocking her chin on the table. Malfoy handed me off to one of the big boys flanking him.

"Let's see what the Squib's got in his pockets. A wand, perhaps?"

I could see Harry from this position, wand out and ready, and also an approaching teacher with the face-things and a high black bun, running from the front of the hall.

One of their hands fumbled across my stomach and chest, searching for the opening. Fear jumped from my stomach – _my notebook_ was in there. The rough hand grabbed it and tossed it to Malfoy, who took a step back and opened it, looking impressed.

"Ooh. Squib steal this from the library, now? Can't afford real leather?" His eyebrows rose in an unidentifiable expression as he paged through it. I closed my eyes and bit my teeth together, praying. _Oh, gods…_

"What else do you have in there?" he demanded, nodding to his crony. The other strong-arm, the one not holding me, rustled through my pocket, touched the Horntail and withdrew with a yell.

The tiny dragon perched on the edge of my pocket and flamed, mouth smoking. "What the hell is _that_?"

Malfoy was panicking. The larger of the two stumbled back into him, holding his blistering hand and shrieking. Malfoy yelled too and dropped my notebook. I made a lunge and fell flat on my face; the little Horntail screamed and hopped out of my pocket, taking flight and spitting fire at my captor.

I put my head down, trying not to get stepped on. When I opened my eyes, my notebook was only inches from my nose. I reached for it quickly, but a foot came down on it suddenly.

"This is _quite_ enough. Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid I'll have to give you detention. This is the second time in a week I've caught you bullying Gryffindor. And you too, Crabbe, Goyle."

A stern feminine voice gave these orders. I chanced a look up. The teacher who'd escorted Harry to the dragons the other day was the one handing out punishment. I was still staring when she looked down through her face-things at me and bent down to pick up my notebook.

I sucked in my breath and scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could, but she didn't look at it. She looked at me kindly and handed it over without a single glance.

Breathing hard, I turned to look at Hermione. She was standing, wringing her hands, next to the table. Harry and Ron were staring at Malfoy unkindly from the other side. Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't stick around. Muttering and pushing angrily at his friends, they slunk off.

"Good job, Hiccup," said a voice from a few seats down. It was one of the twins. "I don't think anyone's ever gotten the best of Malfoy like _that._ I'll be watching to see how it's done." He grinned.

The teacher had retreated back to the High Table. Hermione seemed to have lost her appetite; so had I. She grabbed up her bag and motioned to the front doors of the hall. I followed.

As Hermione opened the door, a blast of sunlight created shadows in front of me and illuminated her. Hermione didn't bat an eye at this and continued leaving, but I turned.

There were, of course, windows in the hall, near the ceiling. They were wide and tall, but the sudden sunlight didn't appear to be coming from them.

Then I noticed the ceiling.

It was … indescribable. It seemed to be gone, nonexistent, actually, the Hall open to Asgard. (Which it couldn't have been; there wasn't a breath of wind.) I could see the clouds shifting slowly over the brilliantly blue sky and that bright sunlight had come directly from it.

Mouth open, I shook my head in wonder and hurried after Hermione.

.

The next few days passed rapidly. I went to classes with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, learning more about wizards than I'd ever wanted to know. I saw Ginny a few times in passing, but didn't get to speak to her, as Hermione, Harry, and Ron were apparently a year older than her. We went to Transfiguration, where I met Professor McGonagall properly, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was Harry and Ron's favorite class.

That professor was the most interesting I'd seen so far, though. Moody was grizzled and gray, with a spinning magical eye and a peg leg. In more ways than one, he reminded me a lot of Gobber. The no-nonsense attitude, at least, was the same.

When I'd walked in, he'd focused both his mismatched eyes on me, given a steely nod, and let me enter.

"What was that about?" muttered Ron, but I thought I knew.

We were, somehow, at an understanding.

I'd shrugged.

After an hour and a half of listening to a ghost (things were beginning not to surprise me anymore) talk about giant wars, I was up for anything. I itched to fly, and kept forgetting that Toothless wasn't next to me, wiggling and as eager as I was myself.

Hermione was busy ignoring Ron and Harry's discussion of their game of hangman as we rushed down a staircase.

"Where are we going to now?"

"Potions," huffed Hermione, hoisting her bag higher.

Harry groaned from behind her, but she didn't acknowledge him. "Is it bad?" I asked.

"Not at all," Hermione said earnestly. "It isn't. Professor Snape hates Harry, though."

I laughed. "Hates? How could somebody hate Harry?"

"You don't know him, mate," called Ron.

"Oh, come on," I scoffed. "Teachers aren't supposed to _hate_ students."

.

I was, as usual, very wrong. The dungeons – yes, that's where the class was held, in the _dungeons, _which were admittedly more pleasant than I'd heard of in my day – were chill in a pleasant way (although the other students huddled near the cauldrons for warmth.) There were large, thick wooden tables scarred and burned from years of abuse arranged in an oval, with a place for each person to light a fire under their cauldron.

Harry's face had become less and less jovial as we descended toward the classroom, and when we finally entered it, he was looking extremely solemn. Ron, too, had lost his cheeriness from earlier in the morning. Only Hermione seemed to have retained any good spirits.

She rolled her eyes at the other two. "They'll be okay. They always are."

"If you say so." Despite everything, I wasn't concerned. "Do we work separately, or…?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sometimes. Sometimes we work in partners. I usually help Neville. He's terrified of Professor Snape," she confided.

"And what should I do? Just watch?"

She thought about it. "Well, as you're a Squib, you wouldn't be able to do one all on your own, but I think you'd be able to help." She grinned. "Do you want to-"

I knew what she was going to ask; did I want to be partners with her? I did, totally and completely, but Snape (looking just as evil as Harry described, with dirty black hair and an overlong nose) entered at that moment, cast a nasty, loathing glare at Harry, and swept to the front.

"Directions. On the board," he snapped, tapping it with his wand. "Wit-Sharpening Solution. I suggest you get started."

"He's in a great mood today," mumbled Ron from the seat behind, and I sat down quickly to avoid notice and didn't realize until afterward that I was between Hermione and Neville.

It was, unfortunately, a very memorable lesson. There were, thankfully, no near-death experiences in that hour, but there were a couple of slip-ups on Neville's part that had me cringing in anticipation of an explosion. I didn't understand a lot of the concepts, and Hermione spent a lot of time talking to herself, alternating between her own potion, Neville's, Harry's and Ron's.

She became more and more frazzled as well, and I ended up sitting as far back as I could so as not to get in her way.

Snape had not commented on my presence at the beginning of class, but as he made the rounds, he sneered every so often at me.

Used to worse at the hands of my village, it didn't particularly bother me. What _did_ bother me, however, was when Snape barked at someone at the door, causing Neville to spin with fear and upset the cauldron.

It tottered. Neither Neville nor Hermione noticed. Foreseeing the outcome of this – I'd made enough similar mistakes over the years – I reached forward hastily and grabbed the cauldron with both hands.

It was hot, much hotter than I'd expected. Not quite the temperature of molten steel, but getting there. Drops of potion sprayed out at my touch and hissed into my clothing, my hands, my face.

I gasped, the burning on my hands severely different from the potion burning. Blisters the size of my fingernails were erupting at the sight of every splash. Satisfied that the cauldron was steady, I yanked my hands back and stared.

My palms and undersides of my fingers were bright pink and edging on red, already loosening into blisters of their own.

Hermione turned back around and shrieked, "_Hiccup! _ What did you _do?_" This wasn't the worst burn I'd had, but it hurt like I'd thrust my arms into the fire. And the potion spill wasn't anything to laugh about, either.

"The cauldron was going to fall," I grunted.

"Professor Snape," called Hermione frantically, holding my wrist up. "Hiccup needs to go to the Hospital Wing, now!"

The door to the dungeons slammed forebodingly. From the door, Snape narrowed his eyes. "Miss Granger, I'll thank you not to interrupt my private conversations. Thirty points from Gryffindor." He glided closer, reminding me of a malevolent Night Fury, and taking his time inspecting the situation as my hands throbbed. A particularly bad burn just next to my right eye stung. "I believe I was mistaken. Hospital Wing, Mr. Haddock. And detention for both of you."

.

Hermione's anger – no, fury – did not abate. She muttered and seethed all through the walk to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey's easy healing of my wounds. The only thing I had to show for my fun was a tiny, silvered scar where the blister by my eye had been.

I surprised myself by almost wanting to show my friends. Hermione marched me from the Hospital Wing to dinner, and ate stiffly, arm shaking and missing her mouth every so often.

Harry and Ron were not pleased either, but not nearly as livid as Hermione was. In fact, I was barely annoyed – I mean, Snape hadn't been fair, but since when were adults ever? – but Hermione fumed all through dinner, couldn't concentrate on her homework, and ended up going to bed early in disgust.

That left Ron, Harry, and me sitting by the fire, watching them work. "Why is she so mad?" I asked the second she disappeared upstairs.

Harry shrugged. "You got hurt and Snape punished both of you for it. It's really unfair."

Ron agreed. "He's never been fair. He's really been hating us this year, though, because of what happened at the end of last year. It's probably just because Hermione interrupted him you got in trouble."

"What happened at the end of last year?"

Ron's mouth dropped open. "You didn't hear." It wasn't a question, more of an astounded statement.

"Didn't hear what?" Ginny came over and dropped onto the floor in front of the fire, leaning against Ron's chair. "Where's Hermione?"

"She's gone to bed," Harry told her. "She's furious because she got her second detention."

The words didn't sink in for a few seconds. "Wha – wait. Hermione's gotten detention _before?_"

"You'll like this story, Hiccup," Ginny said contentedly.

"Yeah, me and her got detention in first year. Hagrid had this baby dragon-"

Ron started laughing. "I had a terrible bite. Norwegian Ridgebacks are very poisonous. Don't get on their bad side."

"And we had to go through the castle at night and try to give Norbert to Charlie's friends."

"Hagrid named a dragon _Norbert?_"

Ginny nodded. "I wasn't there, of course, but Ron told me all about it."

"Wouldn't shut up about Harry that whole summer," whispered Ron, and Ginny turned around and kicked him, face scarlet.

But what had occurred to me, again, was guilt. What was Toothless doing without me? Not much, I supposed. Someone had better be feeding him. Worry stabbed at the base of my throat. Unused to stalking his prey without the air, how would he…?

.

The next morning, Hermione was more calm, but still kept demanding to see my hands during the day to see that they were healing properly (which they were. It was magic. I loved it.)

At breakfast, I discovered that Hermione had a different schedule than Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron took all the extra classes together – Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Hermione took Care of Magical Creatures, had apparently stormed out of Divination, and also took Arithmancy (number-y things I wasn't very interested in, due to my inability to read the number-runes) and Ancient Runes, which I accepted the invitation to attend instead of Divination.

Ancient Runes was in a comfortable classroom on the fifth floor. Not many students had opted to take it, apparently, and it was a mix from all the houses, primarily Ravenclaw. Hermione was the only Gryffindor.

And she was the only one brimming with excitement to go to the class.

The teacher – Professor Babbling – greeted me warmly, and I grinned, thinking of names like Phlegma the Fierce and Gobber the Belch. It occurred to me that there was another name like that – one I should have known – but I couldn't place my finger on it.

Professor Babbling was a talkative young witch who used her wand to display light images on the wall which the students took notes from.

"Today we'll be focusing on different kinds of wizard runes," called Professor Babbling from the side of the runes. "First, the ancient Arabs-"

Hermione smiled as she copied the squiggles and shapes onto her paper. Professor Babbling went on to outline a brief history of the culture and their language, then switched to the next.

This went on for about six more slides before she came to runes I could recognize.

_Norse_ runes.

I felt all the blood drain out of my face. "Hiccup? Are you all right?" I barely heard Hermione's whisper.

There was a small paragraph, a drawing of it in cramped, tiny writing. While Hermione copied (reluctantly), the professor read aloud, "A god is named Thor. He is very strong and often angry. He has a good hammer. Thor often goes to Gianthome and slays many giants there with the hammer. Thor also has a carriage that flies. He drives the carriage through the sky. Where Thor drives there is storm."

I mouthed the words along with her, frowning a little at her translation. Her grammar was a little shoddy.

"Who kills stuff with a hammer?" scoffed a Hufflepuff. I turned and shot her a look.

"That's ridiculous," another agreed. "_Gods._ As if."

I was trembling. Did they – did they really not – understand? Not believe in the gods anymore? Had they ever, in Scotland?

"Hiccup! Are you okay?" Hermione's voice was low, but intense.

I swallowed. "Fine. I'm just fine. Great."

She didn't believe me.

.

That night, they spent a long time doing homework in the library. It grew dark around us. I fiddled with a quill, bored as Hermione, Harry, and Ron leaned over their table, scratching at the essays that never seemed to end.

While fiddling, I noticed that Harry was touching his forehead, almost as if his lightning scar was hurting. Did it ever hurt? I wondered idly. Magic did a lot of strange things.

I decided to interrupt. "Hey. Hey – Harry?" He looked up gratefully from a Potions essay.

"Is your forehead hurting? Is that why you're holding-"

"_Is _it hurting, Harry?" Hermione had apparently abandoned her work in the sake of knowing. Harry shook his head.

"It's nothing. A habit, I guess."

"Wait. Has it hurt before?" I was completely lost. Hermione nodded seriously. "When You-Know-Who is near. Sometimes, Harry can see into his mind. It happened this summer."

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable that we were discussing this particular talent of his, and became very interested in his textbook.

"Yeah, we've been worrying about You-Know-Who lately," Ron added, closing his book. "He's been getting stronger. There've been a couple of disappearances, and Harry's name showed up in the Goblet of Fire…"

"Oh. That's not good."

"While we're on, uh, the subject, Hiccup," Hermione said delicately, "I've been wondering for _ages… _Why do you have a prosthetic leg?"

I blinked. "Uh, excuse me. What?"

She gave a nervous half-grin. "You heard me."

"Yeah, I was wondering that myself," Ron agreed, leaning back in his chair. "Nobody's had a metal leg for _thousands_ of years. Bone-regrowth spells have been around forever."

"I had all the bones in my right arm regrown when I was twelve," offered Harry. "There's a potion."

"_What_?" I still didn't understand at all. "I'm serious. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Feeling just as awkward as Harry moments ago, I dragged my leg across the floor for something to do.

"Why didn't you have someone regrow your leg?" Hermione clarified, looking interested in the answer.

"But – but – you said – you said that – that can't happen," I spluttered. "Look – look at Moody! He's got a peg leg! I know tons of people with – with – oh my gods. What – are you telling me-"

The three of them, sitting on the other side of the table, had all discarded their work and were focused entirely on me and my answer.

"It's not – it's not _so_ weird, is it?" I asked half-heartedly. "I mean – but – you can't-"

They – Hermione included, for whom I had amassed a great deal of respect – seemed to believe that, with magic, someone could _regrow_ a severed…amputated…_bitten off…_limb.

But I couldn't believe it. Magic couldn't go _that _far, could it?

The look on Hermione's face confirmed it.

"It's not too late," Hermione said gently. "I've done some research, and-"

"No way," I interrupted, feeling the floor dropping out from under me. This was a depth I was not prepared for. "I – I can't give this up, especially not now. Toothless needs me – and it's unnatural!"

Harry and Ron gave each other a puzzled look like, _Toothless?_

Hermione, however, was not to be swayed. "It's possible, though," Hermione protested, looking as though I'd lost my mind. Scandalized.

"So?" I retorted.

"So if _I _had the chance, I'd _obviously-_" she broke off, looking confused. "How can you not-"

"It's a scar," I said, hardly knowing what I was saying. "It's – it's a memento, you know?" She did not look as though she did.

"I most certainly do not," she said haughtily. "I just don't understand-"

"Hermione, leave him alone," Harry intervened, shrinking slightly when Hermione whipped around to glare at him instead. "If I could, I wouldn't get rid of my scar." Almost self-consciously, Harry touched his fingertips to his forehead.

"Well, yours is _useful,_" Hermione said in exasperation. "It _helps_ you. Hiccup's – that's just _different,_ okay?"

I shook my head. "No! I'm sure – I'm sure it'll come in handy someday," I said lamely. I swallowed. "It's part of me. I've gotten used to it."

I'd spent months – so many months – relearning. Relearning everything. Walking, running, falling… I'd done it all. And I'd done it all with Toothless. To throw all that away… just for the sake of a little pain and inconvenience now and again…

What I didn't tell her was something more deeply personal than even that: I wouldn't feel right without it. It would mean throwing it _all_ away. Everything I had with Toothless. We matched, these lasting souvenirs of what we had given up for our people, for each other…

I wouldn't feel connected to him without it. I'd be out of place, a foreigner.

I wouldn't be myself.

It was then I knew I'd never complain about the prosthetic leg again. I'd tasted freedom and made it back, but I knew – _knew – _I'd done the right thing.

It would be this way forever.

I stared at the floor, my two legs next to each other. One was healthy, sound, and _real._ Flesh, blood, and bone. The other was thickly iron and spring, the shin wood. The end was not a foot.

I'd grown to like it, somehow.

I didn't _feel_ disabled.

When I looked back up, Harry and Ron had both returned to their work. Hermione, however, was staring at me with her mouth open. A strange look was coming over her face. She blinked, looked at me quickly, and stood, knocking against the table and causing the things on it to slide forward a few inches.

"I'll be right… back…" Hurriedly, she darted further into the library with a purpose.

I turned to Harry and Ron. "What was that?"

Ron just shrugged without looking. "She does that a lot. I'd have to say she's onto something, mate." He scratched his chin with the quill, streaking blue-green ink after it. "I hope it's something to do with the properties of Aconite, though…"

My stomach jumped. Harry threw Ron a book across the table. Ron nodded his thanks. I waited in suspended silence for the two of them to finish their homework, hoping Hermione was going to come back soon, and gazing out the window.

Eventually, they finished their essays and packed their things up and Hermione's. When we were on the way out, Hermione finally returned, catching me at the door and pulling me to the side.

"Hiccup," she panted, clutching a stich in her side. "Come with me."

She had a pair of musty thick books under her arm, but had no problem grabbing me. With absolutely no regard to my stumbling, Hermione dragged me around a corner, down a hallway, and into a room marked with a skirted figure on the door.

It was a bathroom – but a bathroom very different from any at Hogwarts I'd ever seen. It was run down, moldy, and disgusting. The sinks were cracked, the mirror spotty and filmed, and the whole place smelled like burnt candles and dirty water.

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." Hermione wrote it off, motioning to a puddle under the last stall. "No one ever comes in here. We used to, though. We brewed an illegal potion in here for over a month and no one noticed."

She leaned against one of the stalls, obviously sizing me up. Self-consciously, I glanced down – all black robes, except for the place where they were gathered and the leg attached on top of them.

"Hiccup."

"Umm…yeah?" Her eyes were weird, and she put one of the books down on the rim of the sink and opened the other to a bookmark.

"Hiccup…Horrendous…Haddock the Third."

My heart lurched. "How do you-"

She held the book open. Warily, I edged toward her to see – written in weird runes, I didn't understand. She cleared her throat.

"'However, none was more important to the history of Greenland's Viking tribes than Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. Although Muggle accounts detail the failure of Viking settlement, the reason they fell out of touch with the outside world was constant raid by dragons.'"

I sucked in my breath, feeling like I'd made a jump and misjudged the distance, landing hard. Hermione looked up. "It goes on for pages. In other books, too." She pointed. "Your people used dragons to escape isolation and set up proper civilization on Greenland. In America, too…"

Slowly, I nodded. "It talks all about _dragons_, Hiccup," she went on. "Your history, your island-"

"Berk," I interrupted, suddenly wondering if I'd gotten the name right. Their accents were so glaringly _different _from my own that anything I said sounded strange, but this word in particular didn't sound the same as I was used to.

"Your dragon…" Hermione was watching me closely. "That's why you're here." I didn't respond. "You were the first-" She started again. "Someone brought you with the dragons. You arrived the same day they did. They're not wizards' dragons, they're Berk dragons."

It was a guess, obviously, and so wrong I was startled into speech. "Uhh, _no. _Most of our species are a little smaller, but I bet you read all about the Red… Death."

She didn't pause for a second. "I was wondering if you recognized this." She held up another open page, this one I knew. It had an illustration.

I'd drawn it.

It was one of my early diagrams of Toothless – his proportions needed a little work. Cautiously, I traced the cord from a prototypic saddle to the tail, then pulled out my notebook, flipping to the identical page and holding it out to Hermione.

She looked up, eyes glowing. When I spoke, my voice was surprisingly hoarse. "I…drew this," I said. I swallowed, trying to gain steam. "A long time ago. I was … trying to help." Guilt overwhelmed me – where was my determination? I'd promised myself I'd talk to Dumbledore, but I hadn't seen him at all except for mealtimes since the night I'd come to Hogwarts.

What was Toothless doing without me?

"I know," Hermione whispered. "I think it's so wonderful. You found an injured dragon and helped it fly-"

"No." I couldn't meet her eyes. History remembered me, but wrongly? "I…_I_ did that. I captured him, I cut off his tail. I didn't mean to – to do that, exactly, but I tried to kill him. It was only later I … that I understood that it was wrong. Everybody did that back home…I was trying to fit in… _then_ I helped him fly. I… it wasn't noble. I didn't do it on purpose. It just kind of… happened. I'm not the hero you thought I was." I swallowed. "I'm sorry."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, everyone! Sorry for the wait, but this was a difficult chapter to plot and I actually - _(taking a bow)_ - plotted the entire story. Since last time. This had kind of started as an impulse, a seat-of-my-pants thing, but it's really been taking off in the past two weeks.**

**What would you say if I told you I have a set of ideas for a couple vignettes - and a sequel?**

**Read and enjoy!**

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><p>From then on, my Hogwarts career became distinctly more enjoyable. Now knowing the source of my endless curiosity – and confusion – with objects and conveniences and customs that witches and wizards didn't think twice about, I followed her to classes, watched her do her homework (occasionally helping, much to Harry's and Ron's astonishment), followed by her ceaseless (and helpful) whisper.<p>

"This is Professor Sinistra, Hiccup. We usually come here on Wednesdays at midnight, unless it's cloudy."

"Those are glasses. When people have bad vision, they go to a Muggle called a doctor, but most wizards like to use charms."

"The language we're speaking is called English – Dumbledore must have bewitched you when you arrived – and the language you write in is a form of Old Norse."

"That man over there is Victor Krum. The reason all of _those-_" she shot a dark look at a giggling foursome spying through the library stacks, reminding me vaguely of someone – "Are so obsessed with him. He plays international Quidditch for Bulgaria, a country in Southwest Europe, and in the World Cup this summer he caught the Snitch but lost the game. We saw him play (Harry and I went with the Weasleys). Really, it wasn't _that_ great, but if you look at Ron he's just as bad as them." She sighed, then smiled. "Oh, I am so glad you aren't into Quidditch, Hiccup. It's all they-" (I took they to mean Harry and Ron) – "talk about."

Hermione had gone to great lengths to explain the rules of Quidditch to me until I had a working knowledge and could just about half-follow most conversations on the topic. She took me to the library and read aloud (I did love the library, although all that knowledge was also petrifying: there was a reason the Meatheads had such a scary librarian. Hermione did not share this belief) accounts from the World Cup in 1473 (sounded like a good game, but I wouldn't live to see it: not only was I a Muggle to the bone (I couldn't even make Hermione's wand spark, we'd tried) but Hermione had done some calculations and a mountain of research and landed on the tenth century, roughly. She also explained a lot about someone named Christ, who had apparently been important enough to rearrange the years for. She assured me that Christianity would reach Berk sooner or later, but I shrank from the idea. The gods were never _that_ bad to me) and lists of fouls. Cobbing was my favorite.

She showed me moving pictures in books and talked to portraits of famous players for England ("Scotland is a _region_ of England, Hiccup. Sometimes they wish they weren't, but it's been that way for a long time.") and listened to games on Lee Jordan's small wooden radio with the entire Gryffindor House.

I was assimilating.

I began to understand the material taught in classes. I could contribute to most conversations, in a way. Hermione was quickly and surely shooting down everything I was confused or curious _about._

And she had questions.

She wanted to know anything and everything I could tell her about home.

I drew maps of the Barbaric Archipelago from memory. I estimated the speed of the wind and waves in Woden's Bathtub and tried with all my might to remember the number of days it took to sail across the Sullen Sea. She asked about the condition of the land, the color of the dirt, the thickness of the grass, the materials we used to build our houses, sew our clothes. And she wanted to know about the people.

I told her everything. My struggles and now tentative friendship with my dad, how Gobber and I had known each other since I was about three years old, how, before Dragon Training, the other kids had mostly taunted or ignored me. How they had become much better friends than I ever could have imagined. Astrid.

And Toothless, of course. To my relief, she took the story differently from my own mouth, appreciating the seriousness, silliness, and joy in equal measure that her history books had left out.

Even though a few particular details about them – and Berk – seemed to slip my mind, it didn't worry me too much. I was busy.

Hermione seemed to appreciate our talks as well. She confided in me how no one had liked her –ever – before Harry and Ron, her worries for both of them and a little of Harry's tumultuous history. The way he handled his relatives, I thought, was to be admired.

In doing so, I felt myself stripping layers of her – and me – away. Frank and honest but not unkind, Hermione did more for me on a daily basis than anyone I'd ever known. I could _know _her in a way I'd never known anyone before: maybe it was because there were no histories or cold looks or years of loneliness between us on either side.

There was nothing _preventing_ closeness. Our souls were bared.

I taught her things. I showed her how to measure speed, distance and height by eye. I explained how to tell if it would frost or how close the lake's ice was to cracking. And although these things had little effect on her life, she absorbed them all readily and with a smile. But even with everything I told her, I forgot a little more.

I tried to do everything I could – which wasn't much, considering – to show her I valued her, just how much she meant to me.

In return, she promised to have the boys teach me to fly on a broomstick, as she assured me she was terrible. I doubted this, but she refused to believe me.

"Harry's at least as good as Ron and Ginny put together," Hermione told me. "Saturday. We'll make a day of it."

"Ginny plays Quidditch?" I asked. Somehow, even though I had yet to witness a single game, I could imagine her perched on a broom – or even a smallish Monstrous Nightmare. Even thinking about it, I warmed to the idea, almost laughing. The Stoker personality would suit her.

To my surprise, Hermione shook her head. I was sure I'd seen Ginny listening to Quidditch games on the radio – sat next to her, even – a Holyhead Harpies game, after which she'd told me wistfully of the all-women's team and Gwenog Jones, a hero of hers and the person who'd inspired her to be a Chaser.

"She's never tried out," Hermione explained. "For the House team. Of course, there's no Quidditch this year, but her brothers never let her practice with them anyway. I'm not sure if Bill – the eldest – played, but Charlie was a star Seeker. He left before we got to school; Harry was his replacement. Ron'll play Keeper if they let him, and Fred and George play for Gryffindor, Beaters. They're an amazing team, actually, they never argue. It's slightly uncanny. Maybe it's a twin thing."

"Huh," I said, thinking. "Ruff and Tuff never do anything_ but_ fight. They try to get each other killed all the time."

Hermione looked slightly alarmed at this and wrinkled her nose. "Does that happen often?"

"Oh, definitely. They fight over everything – I can't even tell you the amount of times Ruff's pushed Tuff off a cliff or something – she doesn't mean it. I think. But it's a real inconvenience in battle. You have to plan around it."

"You plan lots of battles?" Hermione asked, grinning.

I shrugged. "Well, there used to be lots of raids before, but I never really had a part in them. (Well, a helpful part…) There's only occasional stuff now. Boneknapper, you know. The Visithugs are being stupid. The Berserkers are always a bit of a problem."

Hermione shook her head, laughing, then caught sight of her watch. Although she didn't tell me the time, it must have been late, and she had full school as always tomorrow. She grew solemn. "Right, but anyway, I'll ask them to take you out."

I was busy trying to think of what type of dragon I could see Hermione riding – like, none – when she started speaking again and I looked up to see her frowning thoughtfully. "But actually, Harry and Ron don't even know she can fly…"

.

Saturday was bitingly cold - or so I was told. Harry and Ron shivered in the wind, their cloaks flapping. Both Ron and Harry had their own brooms, an old Comet brand and Harry's, which he'd used for the First Task and I hadn't known what it was. Now I was forced to understand: it was more than good. It was top of the line. It'd been used at the World Cup. It had cost, apparently, a fortune. Although Ron acted enthusiastic and cheery toward Harry, I saw him watching it a little. I bit my lip. Harry – and even Hermione, a little bit – knew Ron too long to see how jealous he was. Of Harry's attention, his money… But Ron made an effort. He really did. And he hid it surprisingly well.

Poor Ron.

Harry went to the supply closet and removed the sleekest broom for me, and demonstrated stepping over the handle and jumped.

He made it look natural. Although prepared for what I'd seen, I still gaped at his simply letting off steam, looping through the air and then soaring off. A misplaced sense of pride – or jealousy – surged through me, and I could imagine myself doing those things, only more daring…jumping off the broom and running over an arch…

I startled out of it, staring down at the broom incredulously. I had no idea where the thought had come from, but the idea of me even sitting on this thing was laughable.

I even _held_ the broom awkwardly. Though I'd become much more comfortable with magic, seeing magic, and using magical objects (living in a magical castle), I could hardly see how it was going to support my weight. Ron didn't seem to have such reservations and followed Harry's lead, a Quaffle tucked under his arm.

"Come on, Hiccup," Harry called, waving to me. I grimaced and nodded and turned to the broom.

Feeling ridiculous, I clambered on the broom. Hermione had told me a little of the history of Quidditch and how Muggles used brooms to clean their floors. She'd been surprised by my snort of laughter, imagining houses lasting long enough to need sweeping.

To my surprise, it felt comfortable enough. Although I couldn't see it, a charm cushioned the handle of the broom and made balance possible. Unconsciously, I felt for stirrups, feeling slightly stupid when I obviously didn't find any. The broom vibrated slightly under me, and I grinned uneasily.

"Uh, okay," I muttered to myself. "Yeah, I'm coming," I yelled to Harry and leaned forward, gripping the handle so tightly my knuckles whitened.

Carefully, I pushed off.

The broom didn't seem to _support_ me at all: I'd expected to feel it heavily. Instead, I felt virtually weightless. It was freeing, and also terrifying. Harry motioned to me again, and I called, "Yeah! I have no idea what to do now!"

My fingers were already starting to cramp from my too-hard hold on the broom, but even though I was only three or four feet above the ground, I wasn't relishing the idea of falling. I shifted my shoulders, and the broom lurched, tipping me off its end. I didn't let go, though, and pulled the broom down with me, struggling to pull back up on it and stay aloft.

I'd succeeded – partially – with my leg hooked unfortunately on the handle when I lost my grip and landed hard with a _clank_ that reverberated all the way up to my thigh.

"Hiccup? Are you all right?" Grimacing, I opened my eyes. Ron peered over at me. Harry thumped to the ground as well.

"Fine," I said, clambering back up again. "How do I try again?"

Harry laughed a little. "Er, I should have told you how to stay on. You have to lean forward so you're flat against the broom, unless you're sitting up, but you need to keep the broom straight all the time, or else you'll tip."

"Oh," I muttered, dusting myself off and grabbing the broom. "Like this?"

Harry eyed me critically and adjusted my grip. He then slowly got on his own broom and raised a few feet in the air, instructing me step-by-step: it struck me that he would make an amazing teacher, although the idea of him staring over his glasses severely like McGonagall or sweeping through the dungeons like Snape was hilarious.

I snickered quietly and followed his instructions as best as I could. My weight was not in any way evenly distributed, a fact that settled into the frown between Harry's eyebrows. Eventually I managed to get the hang of it, although it felt stupid that my legs weren't supported in any way. Within minutes, the remains of my calf were burning and aching from holding up my metal leg.

It suddenly occurred to me that a metal arm – much less a hammer or axe hand – would be much harder to hold up and that Gobber must have a very impressive left shoulder. Shuddering slightly, I returned my thoughts to Quidditch, carefully maneuvering my broom higher.

It didn't seem to want to follow my commands nearly as easily as either Harry's or Ron's. Ron's was desperately, pathetically slow, and he and Harry alternated riding the Firebolt. Harry's was incredibly fast, even faster up close. It was so fast, in fact, that as he zoomed around the pitch, he became a blur of black.

My broom, though, required gentle tugging to go higher and forceful pushing to go lower. Speed was entirely out of the question, but I did get a strange sense that the broom could feel my suspicion and anxiety with the whole endeavor.

I really missed my stirrups.

And the control. Not the control over where I was going – I almost _never_ had control over that; Toothless nearly always got his way – but the comfort of knowing that I had sway, influence, and a guarantee that I wouldn't fall.

With magic, I really couldn't be so sure. I tentatively joined Harry and Ron near the goalposts, stopping the broom and leaning a little too far to the left. I had a feeling I'd be doing a lot of that today.

Harry and Ron, however, seemed completely at ease. Not only could Harry sit on the broomstick as easily as walking, he rarely appeared to hold on with his hands either.

"Star," Ron told me, shaking his head and grinning. "He's been on the Gryffindor team since he was _eleven._ Youngest player in a century. He's a Seeker, too, and in three years, he's only ever lost us one match."

Harry grinned sheepishly at this. "Dementors," he reminded Ron. I nodded as if this made perfect sense, and therefore was caught completely off guard as Ron threw the Quaffle at me.

"What – whoa!" I sat back too quickly, barely managing to grab the ball with both my arms and reach around it to steady the broom. "What was that for?" I asked crossly.

Ron stared. "Er, well, seeing as we're up here to play Quidditch…"

"Perfect. Be sure to send my remains to my father. I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture." I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, though, warn me next time. If you do that again I'm gonna fall." With one hand firmly on the handle, I leaned back and threw the ball gently at Harry.

Harry caught it effortlessly and shunted it to Ron, who rocketed it back at Harry. Harry passed it sideways to me. I almost fell. I tossed it to Ron. Ron hit it on the top of his head, bouncing it to Harry, who threw it back. Ron kicked it at me. I almost fell. I thrust it at Harry. He spun it on his finger and pitched it to me. I almost fell.

It went on like this for a while, actually. The two of them had a great time, and I liked watching them. I eventually managed to get comfortable on the broomstick – or at least as comfortable as I was going to get. A few hours had passed before Harry missed his first pass, which he attributed to being so cold he couldn't feel his fingers.

Ron nodded in agreement and the two of them were already diving toward the ground. "Wait! What do you mean?" They didn't hear, and reluctantly – I really had been enjoying the time in the air, as brief as it had been – I followed them.

I didn't attempt anything remotely resembling a dive – _that_ would have been a disaster – but managed to get to the pitch in a short series of drops, although my excursion couldn't be complete without another tumble. Luckily the fall was only a foot or so this time and I managed to turn it into a passable roll without winding myself too badly.

Harry and Ron were blowing on their fingers when I rejoined them, and I couldn't help staring as we meandered back to the castle.

"Don't you need a cloak?" Ron asked suddenly, pointing at my shoulders. Although feeling a little naked without my bearskin vest, I certainly wasn't _cold._ I looked at him. His and Harry's faces were chapped pink from the wind – or the cold?

I shook my head.

"Are you sick or something?" Harry was looking at me, slightly concerned. "If you're not cold at all, there's got to be something wrong. Hermione's going to kill us," he added worriedly to Ron.

"If he's sick? Yeah, I know. We could stop by the Hospital Wing for Pepperup… That'll sort him."

"I'm not sick," I said, confusion mounting. "W-" Suddenly, it occurred to me that to Harry and Ron, it didn't feel like normal weather. This was the height of winter to them and they were clearly suffering for it. I chuckled.

Harry glanced sideways at me. "It's a lot colder where I come from," I explained. "It's winter most of the time there, and, well, this is a pretty average day for, like, October."

Ron's eyes widened. "Where, exactly, is this miserable place?"

I hesitated. Dumbledore had warned me on my first day not to tell. But I'd broken that rule, just like every other rule I'd ever had placed before me. And Dumbledore hadn't exactly been forthcoming on his end of our deal. Weeks had passed and I was still, obviously, at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were good people and seemed more than trustworthy – they were Hermione's best friends. It was good enough for me.

"It's an island. Called Berk."

"Berk?" Ron sniggered. "Like _a-_" He stopped when he saw that I was serious and cleared his throat. "Continue."

Harry had stopped walking, Firebolt over his shoulder, and was looking at me apprehensively, as though he had a slight inkling of where this might be going.

"Let me guess," he said, backing against the wall of the outdoor corridor and forcing our stop as well. "This island isn't in England. Or anywhere near here at all."

I swallowed and closed my eyes. "No. It's in the… the Barbaric Archipelago."

This time Ron let out a real laugh and didn't stop until I said, "We're Vikings." That shut him up.

"Wait," Harry frowned. "Vikings haven't been around for centuries."

"I know. It was a Portkey. I belong back somewhere between 800 and 1000 A.D."

I braced myself for their reaction. Eyes tightly shut, I was almost afraid to hear – laughing?

I cracked an eye open. Ron was leaning against the wall, his apparent coldness forgotten, wiping at tearing eyes. Harry was snorting too, and when I raised my eyebrows, Ron gasped, "Well, it explains a few things!"

"What?"

"You don't fit in," Harry told me, completely blunt. "Hermione likes to pretend you do, but you don't. All of us have known each other for years – you have an accent, you don't know anything about magic, you're a Squib – you shouldn't even be able to see Hogwarts – and your leg."

With each hit, my heart sank a little lower. "Thanks for the glowing admiration, guys." I took a deep breath. "Yeah, well. I didn't, like, _volunteer_ to come, you know. Dumbledore just – _poof_ – and there I was."

"Dumbledore took you?" Ron said in a horrified tone. "Dumbledore? Are you sure?" Barely a second passed before Harry, looking at Ron with wide eyes, assured me, "He must have had a good reason."

"He's pretty memorable. But yeah. For the dragons. Only thing I am halfway capable of succeeding at." I gave them a wry smile, trying to ignore the look they exchanged. "And apparently I'm not supposed to go home yet."

We resumed walking, an easiness now passing between us. Of course, I had a few more things I needed to get off my chest, but Ron beat me to the punch. "So, in the – whatever century you come from, wasn't the Pureblood mania really bad? How're you getting away with being a Squib? Maybe you're not just here for the dragons. Maybe you're here to force some magic out of you!"

I shook my head quickly. "Actually, that was just a stupid cover story Dumbledore came up with. I'm a Muggle. Completely. Totally. Hopelessly."

I'd expected confusion, and confusion I got. It was devoid, however, of the resentment and anger I'd expected as well at my unwitting invasion of their all-wizard school.

But Harry and Ron proved surprisingly willing to shrug it off. "I'm only half-blood," Harry reminded me. "I grew up with Muggles. And it's not like I'd agree with anything the Slytherins say anyway." Ron literally did shrug indifferently. "You're not bad. Besides, us Weasleys take pride in being the longest-standing pure-blooded blood-traitor family. You should meet my dad sometime. He's completely obsessed with Muggles."

I smiled. "I also attempted to kill dragons for many years and failed consistently until I downed a Night Fury and became his best friend. Lunch?"

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	10. Chapter 10

**I'd apologize for this, but I just realized that it's been only a month and that I actually updated during the summer.**

**All in all, much more than I'd expected of myself!**

**Okay. So there's some trouble coming up - but a bunch of good stuff too. I've spent the last month plotting the rest of DK and (gasp) its sequel, along with vignettes and a crossover that needs to come somewhere in between.**

**Thanks for all the support, guys!**

**And tell me your thoughts on Hicmione.**

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><p><em>It was cool out. My fingers rested in notches on something warm and pebbly. A huge heavy weight rested on my shoulder. I looked out over a medieval village, wooden houses gleaming under heavy snowfall, and looked up into the face of a humongous, red-bearded man smiling down at me.<em>

_The word that should be associated with him slipped my mind; it seemed too strange. I opened my mouth to ask, "Da-"_

Something jerked me awake, and my head snapped up. The fleeting vision of a village buried in winter snow vanished; I inhaled too quickly and immediately started coughing. The … perfume, Harry had called it – from the Divination professor's fire stung and burned my throat.

"My dear?"

Hurriedly, I tried to bring to mind the contents of the lesson – but the only truly captivating part had been when she'd passed out star charts and introduced herself (which wasn't saying much), a woman draped in glass beads and gauze and shawls, as if she could possibly be cold. After that, my mind was a blank. It was hot in the tower room – so hot that I almost wanted to jump out the window into the freezing air. For some reason, this didn't seem like a strange desire to me, as worried as I was by it. It was extremely difficult to concentrate, a sentiment that Harry and Ron shared. Harry had spent most of his time staring out that selfsame window, and Ron's head bobbed up and down as he drifted off and woke again.

"Umm, yes?"

The bell was seconds away from ringing, and the Professor looked over at me hesitantly. "Boy? Stay after the lesson, please…I have something I wish to discuss with you."

I flashed a panicked look at Ron, who gave me a w_hat-can-you-do_ look, and Harry, who just shrugged. "Whatever she says, don't take her seriously," he whispered.

Right on cue, the bell tolled, louder up here than anywhere else so far in the castle. The class moved to leave, and a girl with long dark hair looked at me curiously – Parvati Patil, Hermione had said. I tripped my way over to the front of the room, wondering how anyone needed so much clutter.

"My dear…" Trelawney's overlarge eyes were always disconcerting, and now, as she looked up at me from her chair, they filled with pained tears. With a dramatic sigh, she rubbed her temple. I suddenly remembered Harry complaining on the way up to the tower about her habit of predicting students' deaths, and her special interest in his. Was she about to give me an unwelcome clue to my future? Was this her way of being kind, or was she trying to intimidate me?

_Old age,_ I begged Odin silently. That is, if Odin was still around. At least, I _thought_ Ragnarok hadn't happened yet… _Please let it be old age._

"Your future has already happened, child," Trelawney announced, as though expecting me to faint in shock. "But not to _you…_ the Inner Eye is sensitive to such matters. I fear you are becoming detached… what was your dream about?"

I gaped at her blankly, still fighting through the haze of sleep and the sickening fire. What if it was poisoned?

"If this is about sleeping in class-"

"Oh, _no_, dear. The Universe knows there are far more important things than the mundane attendance of lessons and the completion of schoolwork. I am asking about your _future._"

It made no sense whatsoever. I blinked, and decided to play dumb. "Umm, dream?"

"Your _aura,_ dear…" Her voice had become far more urgent, hushed. "You _belong_ in the beyond…"

I wasn't sure what she meant by _that,_ or quite how to respond. "Uh, if you mean Asgard, I don't think I'm quite ready…"

She shook her head impatiently. "_Then._ You were important _then_ and you _have. _You w_ill_ be important once again – but, then again, you _are…"_

She seemed to be distracted, staring into space, and then muttered to herself, "I must check the cards. Have a good day, child."

And with that, she waved me out of the room so quickly I slipped out the trapdoor and only caught myself after one or two rungs.

All the peace that seemed to have emanated from the dream I'd had was lost now; instead I was irritated and relieved to return to the comfort of the frigid corridor. A pane on the window was rattling and loose; I walked slowly over to it, breathing in the smell of coming snow. I closed my eyes, the wind brushing my hair back off my face…

Of course, it would be much colder, much windier, much purer, up there in the sky…

My stomach twisted, reminding me of the lunch I was supposed to be at, and I started slowly down the spiral stair.

.

"You know what? I'll teach you wizards' chess. Make up for that." Ron, although speaking to me, didn't seem to be paying me as much attention as his pie, which he was devouring with indecent speed.

Next to me, Harry snorted. "That's not much of a consolation prize."

I stared into my goblet, snapping my head up at this. "Why? It's bad?"

"Oh, it will _be_ bad," Hermione's voice told me as she plopped onto the bench on my other side. "Ron has been taking pride in ruining people at chess for years."

"What's chess?"

Hermione, for once, didn't explain, but Ron's face split into a frightening grin. "I hope you're not afraid of losing, Hiccup."

"You will lose," Harry clarified. "Ron's never gone up against someone better. It's just a thing you have to accept."

"Oh, I'm used to losing," I assured them. "But will someone please explain what chess _is?_"

.

So Ron taught me chess.

It was, apparently, a _board_ game. (As opposed to a kicking-shoving-biting sort of game, which wizards delicately avoided mention of. I was sure they had at least one, though.)

And it was also, apparently, a favored pastime of the Gryffindors to watch Ron destroy whoever his newest victim was. Hermione and Harry, though keenly interested in my "lessons" (which mostly consisted of Ron tearing me to shreds and offering basic advice occasionally, but Harry had assured me that his lessons had been the same), both seemed a little put off by the talking, living chess pieces. I welcomed every bit of help they could give me. They bickered and fought amongst themselves, but I, unlike the others, could see that they had actual good reasons. One wrong move on my part – and they'd had close to a century of experience – risked their getting a beating, depending on how violent Ron's pieces were feeling (often, very) and how much damage I'd done earlier in the game.

Hermione had taken to instructing me during the games, although Ron laughed at her (Hermione, surprisingly, had never once won a game of chess). I, however, greatly appreciated her help. The pieces, though shaped differently and possessing different properties, were difficult to remember. (This was rather exaggerated by how ridiculous I found it. The king was virtually powerless, but if he was taken, the game was lost. Unlike real life, he couldn't fight with his foot soldiers and there was no line of succession. And of all the pieces to make perfect, it had to be the queen?)

This was not so much of a stumbling block for me as it was for Hermione, who seemed at a complete loss. "You told me you remember all the fact things about dragons," she hissed. "What they're called; what they do; for God's sake, you managed to tell me half of the Viking tribes in the Barbaric Archipelago! Why in the world can't you remember _chess pieces?"_

As much as I wanted to be the one who could hold his own against Ron, chess just didn't seem as important as other things I'd inherently memorized. Measurements and dragon facts were basic and applicable; on a daily basis I needed to draw from them. Chess was just a game.

But it was a game that became very important to me. I wasn't sure why I wanted to beat Ron so much. It was the only thing he was truly good at – or, more importantly, one of the only things he was better at than Harry (who took every inevitable defeat with surprising good humor, although he hadn't given up hope.) I didn't want to take that away from him, but as I had no way to participate in classes, I had nothing at all to my name.

Nothing.

Ron would always have a place at Hogwarts as Harry Potter's best friend, not to mention his own attributes. In addition to stories of what Harry had accomplished, Ron's parts stood out as well. I barely had a place at all. My position in my own village, not to mention this stone jungle of a school, was uncertain, especially now that I was gone, but there still remained the change from desperately seeking attention to keeping secrets in the space of a day and from hiccup to Hero in the space of two weeks.

Chess was a challenge for me, but I needed it. Hermione also was a frequent loser at chess, a fact which she despised. It wasn't uncommon to see her and Ron engaged in an unfriendly game with Harry cheering them both on (or, more likely, staring off into space.)

On one such day, I plopped down in a chair next to their game in front of the fire and propped my chin up on my wrist. I could tell without even looking at the board that Hermione was losing – her eyebrows were tightly contracted and she didn't even look up to say hello.

I glanced at the board. As always, Ron's pieces were black, and his opponent's were white. Hermione only had a few remaining to her army: the queen, the king, a bishop, and a trio of pawns. Ron, on the other hand, had his entire arsenal except for a single knight Hermione worried with her fingers, much to its disgust.

"Watch what you're doing there, miss! You'll get my armor all oily!"

Hermione didn't respond, but tentatively moved a pawn forward. Ron's lips slowly curved upward, and quickly, a rook from the opposite side of the board and took her one remaining bishop, the rook screaming obscenities in his victory.

Hermione finally looked up at me, and I shrugged. It was clear to both of us that Hermione was going to lose the game, and Ron confirmed this when Hermione lifted the bishop out of place and pushed her king a square forward.

"Check!"

Although I looked, I couldn't spot the threat. Leaning back in my chair, I withdrew the tiny Horntail and placed her on my chest, sleepily puffing smoke. She, although still nameless, had offered a welcome sense of home to Hogwarts. Harry, who'd I assumed would be slightly mad once he found out I'd swiped his dragon, had laughed and told me I was more than welcome to it.

Since then, she'd been accompanying me to classes, to meals, everywhere I went. Not only was she good company, but she terrified Malfoy and took to roosting on my shoulder whenever she saw him go by.

I had a weird feeling that I could do better – much better – than this puny dragon in terms of intimidation, but I could never quite place my finger on it. Whatever it was would strike terror into the hearts of the Slytherins, I was sure.

It was Ron's turn, but Hermione was still trying to see what he'd do. He'd barely put a finger on his knight when the little dragon perked up. Before I could stop her, she'd sprung into the air and landed rather unsteadily – on the chessboard.

I winced, and she sent screaming pieces tumbling in all directions. With one swipe of her long, needled tail, she swept Ron's opposing forces onto the floor, and pushed Hermione's down with a wing. Blindingly fast, she snatched up Hermione's king and chomped down hard enough for him to cry out.

"STOP!" I jumped to my feet.

Ron and Hermione, staring at their game in horror, turned to look at me. The dragon stopped, too, and looked up with wide eyes.

"Put him down. Down. I mean it! _Down…_I'm serious. You're not sleeping with me tonight. You can't just go around eating people. Yeah! Just because they aren't big doesn't mean they're not…you know, real. Now put the king down. You're hurting him."

She, staring at me as innocently as she possibly could, did so, creaking open her jaws deliberately slowly and letting him drop out. The poor little stone king, coated in miniature dragon saliva, brushed himself off in horror and fled to the side of the table, jumping down to join his forces.

The Horntail remained unconcerned, using a blast of fire to clean the marble dust from her claws and simultaneously burn a hole in the table.

"Oh, come on," I moaned, scooping her up and re-confining her to my pocket, clamping a hand down on her struggling. "You're lucky they're magic, or they'd never get that out!"

Hermione and Harry had watched this with something between amusement and alarm, while Ron was singly dismayed. "The poor chess pieces," he whispered, picking them up from the floor. "I'm sorry," he told them, and shot me a look. "I didn't know _dragons_ were going to crash our game!"

Suddenly slightly defensive, I glared at him. "I didn't know she was going to do that either," I said, at the same time as Hermione snapped, "It was just defending me!"

And that was what gave me the idea for her name. "You're right." She'd been nameless for a long time, but Hermione's term had translated in my head. "I'm gonna call her Verja." It was Norse for defender (although Hermione told me that my "Norse" was "Old Norse" now.) I'd meant to call her that – "defender" – but when I'd opened my mouth, the word popped out, two thousand years out of date.

Hermione looked surprised at this, but Ron hissed, "Fine, whatever. Just don't let it out when we play anymore, all right?"

I scowled at him. "I'm not in _control_ of her. I don't boss her around. I'm sorry she did that, but I can't say it won't happen again."

In fact, I rather hoped it would. Out of the three of them, Ron was the one I found it hardest to get along with. At first, I'd thought we would understand each other, with similar sarcastic styles of speaking, previous feelings of unworthiness (although I vaguely thought I'd come to a peace with my bad reputation back home) and even experience with directing our friends in battle. I'd thought that chess would make us as close as I was to Harry, if not Hermione.

Instead, it seemed that it was only aggravating our differences.

Hermione put an end to the altercation quickly. "I hope it does. That was the first time in three and a half years I haven't lost at chess."

.

On Monday night, we did detention.

Since Saturday and my lack of frozenness had revealed me to Harry and Ron, Hermione had issued a mandate: I was to wear a cloak whenever I saw someone else wearing one. And because they always seemed to be freezing in the castle (maybe it had something to do with magic) Sunday had passed in a miserable haze of heat.

Hermione and I went down to the dungeons together after bidding Harry and Ron goodbye, both of which were still slightly stunned at Hermione's second detention ever and gossiping like housewives about whether or not I was ruining her. We were surprised but not _too_ surprised to find Neville waiting at the door as well.

He glumly informed us that he, too, was being punished, though not for the cauldron incident. (Although it was his fault.) He, unsurprisingly, had managed to acquire a string of zeroes that Snape couldn't fail to remark upon.

The door, much to shivering Hermione's and Neville's relief, opened at precisely nine o'clock. Scarcely had we stepped over the threshold into a potions room that smelled far worse than usual did Snape appear, sneering and malevolent as always.

"You'll be sorting Tentacula leaves for the sixth years," he said, gesturing toward two large wooden vats of slime. "The serrations must be intact. If it is rotted too much to be of use, a simple Vanishing Charm will suffice. You have-" he checked his watch nonchalantly – "until midnight. Should you leave it unfinished, you'll return tomorrow and every night after until you complete it."

Neville let out a shaky breath. As though in afterthought, Snape held out one imperious hand. "Wands, please." Neville struggled to remove his from his pocket, and Hermione handed hers over with a sigh of defeat. Snape turned to me, teeth bared in a smile. I crossed my arms. "I almost forgot," he hissed delicately. "Mr. Haddock must have left his at home."

Although Hermione had explained the whole "surname" thing to me, I still got a shiver every time someone addressed me as "Haddock." It was absurd to call someone by their clan name, but they used it for formalities and people they really hated.

For Snape, I qualified as both: one by my status as somewhat a student, and the other simply by existing near Harry Potter.

As soon as he was gone, Neville, who'd been trembling the entire time Snape was in the room, let out a sigh. Hermione was hissing in almost the same tone as Snape, "Vanishing Charm! N.E.W.T level – as if we'd possibly be able to do that, even if he hadn't taken our wands! And he can't possibly punish us for not disposing of the waste properly…" angrily, Hermione stormed around the room, dragging a barrel over.

I alone heard the door lock.

For all that Hermione had been teaching me, I couldn't tell the difference between a rotten or usable _anything,_ much less leaves coated with slime that I was used to seeing dry. I rolled up my sleeves to help but eventually ended up getting in the way, lingering behind them awkwardly while she and Neville resigned themselves to the task.

They didn't talk very much, just grimaced and snorted in disgust. Finally, to break the silence, I asked, "So…do you think he locked the door by magic?"

This surprised them both. Neville's arm shook so much that he dropped a handful of the slippery leaves into the wrong bucket, disappearing with a sad _ploft. _Hermione looked up sharply, ignoring Neville as he groaned and peered into the dark slime.

"Locked? He can't have _locked…_" hurriedly, she jumped up, wiped her hands on her robes, and ran to the door.

She grabbed at the handle and yanked. Nothing happened. She looked up at me, panicked, and I grabbed her shoulder.

"Hermione! Hey – calm down! Calm down. It's okay."

"He took our _wands_…" she moaned, holding her forehead in her hand.

Neville had come to join us, and I was thinking fast as he asked, "What do we do? He can't just…_leave_ us down here…can he?"

Neither Hermione nor I answered. Hermione twisted her hands anxiously and stared unseeingly, with wide eyes, and I tried to reassure her.

"Look, this is _not_ the worst situation either of us have ever been in. Everything's gonna be fine."

She gave me a nervous smile, but I could tell she didn't really believe me.

I half-knelt on the ground, peering at the keyhole. "He probably didn't use magic," I said over my shoulder. "It's unnecessary. You guys wouldn't have been able to break out either way."

"Why, though?" Hermione's usual confidence had disappeared along with her wand. "He would have wanted to do this. Make us helpless."

The answer required no thought, but Hermione wasn't thinking straight anyway. "He locked us in here. He knows that none of us can do magic without wands, and me not at all. Why would he lock it by magic? He gets more satisfaction knowing that we can't help ourselves anyway."

Hermione had flopped to the floor, head in her hands. Neville joined her, too, looking miserable. I kept looking at the lock…

It was probably a bolt. The castle was really old – not as old as my time, but too old to use a key. There was a simple way to unlock the door from the outside while keeping us barred from the inside.

The door was thick, and wooden. I moved over a little, trying to see through the gap between door and doorframe. If I had tools, I might – no, I would definitely – be able to break it.

I had no tools…

But I did have a dragon.

Slowly, I reached into my pocket, wondering how hot Horntail fire was. Verja was asleep, curled up in an innocuous ball and breathing quickly. The similarity to another dragon species – another small one – struck me, but I didn't have time to think about it.

"You guys…finish the sorting. I'll take care of this."

Hermione must have understood the seriousness of the request, because I heard her pick herself up and go back to the vat. Small squelching sounds followed. A moment later, Neville joined her.

Carefully, I prodded Verja's belly with the tip of my finger. She woke at once, squawking her displeasure and glaring at me with slitted pupils.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, girl. I wanna be asleep too. You're gonna have to help me out here, though, because otherwise we'll both be up all night."

Verja stared at me, took in my stubborn face, and spat a cloud of sparks into my palm. I gasped quickly, but the pain went away fast. She hadn't really been trying to hurt me – it was payback for waking her up.

I lifted her to the door and asked, "Can I have a little light?"

Unlike Night Fury fire, hers didn't explode. Verja took a few deep, steadying breaths, and began to exhale, each time her tongue of flame extending and becoming hotter and hotter.

The light flared and flickered, and with it I squinted into the darkness of the doorframe. That was definitely a bolt, I confirmed. Now all I had to do was melt it without setting either the wood or the stone on fire.

I sat back on my ankle, assessing the situation. Verja, hoping her work was done, scampered up my arm and made to burrow down my shirt. "Uh, no. You're not done yet. Not by a long shot. You've got some destroying to do."

And she did. The first two or three flames didn't have much of an effect, although I had to applaud her expert aim. The third and fourth started to turn the bolt into a glowing red blob.

The best part was that Verja didn't seem to have a shot limit. Her fuel, I reasoned, could even be unlimited, due to the fact that she was, you know, magical.

And finally, the metal started dripping. A dragon this tiny with this much fire could be used in forges everywhere – not Terrors, who were about twenty times her size and somehow far stupider – but Verja was invaluable.

The drops rolled down the sides of the door, but instead of lighting it on fire simply burned deep scorches into either side. Some drops plopped directly down onto the stone floor, splashing up onto my leg, shoe, and the hem of my cloak.

At last, the bolt was weak enough to pull. My leg was aching after the awkward positioning for so long and almost buckled when I got up, but I managed to grab the door handle and wrench it open.

The rest of the bolt splattered onto the floor and I jumped back, not wanting it to weld and stick to my leg. If _that_ got in the spring there would be no way to fix it.

But the door was open. Deliciously cool dungeon air wafted in, and the candles guttered. Hermione glanced up, mouth open, and smiled widely. She looked down at her vat – there was a skimming of Tentacula leaves along the bottom still, and Neville had at least a third left, but Hermione got up and stretched.

"Well, I think we're done for tonight," she said brightly, rubbing feeling back into her neck. I was stiff, too, but definitely wasn't going to nurse _my_ aches and pains in front of her. Neville glanced down nervously and said, "Are you sure we shouldn't just…"

"He shouldn't have locked us in here," Hermione told him firmly. "When he gets in tomorrow and finds his lock _melted_, he's going to be angrier about that than if we didn't finish. _I'm_ not coming back tomorrow."

Unsure but trusting, Neville followed us out of the room. I had been more than prepared to break into Snape's office with Verja and get their wands back, but we were pleasantly surprised to find them propped in the notice-thing that the teachers used to put scrolls of important messages outside the classrooms when they didn't need to interrupt the lessons.

Hermione's tension almost completely dissolved as her wand and she were reunited, and as we began the trek to the upper floors, she was even smiling.

"Give me your cloak," she said suddenly, and I looked down at her, bewildered. "But I thought I wasn't supposed to-"

"Well, we're not supposed to be out. It's past curfew anyway, no one's going to see you, and I'm freezing. You obviously don't need it."

Grinning, I undid the clasp and held it out to her. She shrugged it on over her own and sighed in gratitude. "You made it all nice and warm."

"I do what I can."

It wasn't until we reached the Gryffindor common room that I spoke again. Hermione had stopped for a moment by the fire, holding slightly blue-tinged fingers out to the flame. Only hours before, Harry and Ron had been sitting there, discussing –

"You know, I reckon Harry and Ron were right about one thing," I told her as she returned my cloak to me ruefully at the bottom of the girls' staircase.

She smiled slowly. "What's that?"

"I am ruining you."

She paused to consider this, and then assured me, "Oh, but I like it." And before either of us could do anything else, she reached out blindingly quickly, kissed me on the cheek, and ran up the stairs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Yes, yes, I know I said I wasn't going to update this for a while, but I had a bit of time today to ignore the world with, and, well, this happened. **

**So sorry to have kept that cliffhanger over your heads for so long - but it wasn't six months! We're nearing the endgame now, folks. Only a few more chapters left! **

**A special thank you to all the reviewers who complained of Hicmione but said they'd deal with it for the love of the story, and those who complained of Hiccup's extended stay at Hogwarts (which has a very good reason, I promise!) and those who complained of the memory loss - well, those who complained at all. I do love complaints.**

**As always, enjoy, and drop by with a review with your thoughts. **

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><p>The next morning, I took my cue from Hermione. She didn't seem inclined to mention <em>it<em>, and I didn't say a word.

Not that I had anything to say anyway.

Hermione's kiss had come as a surprise – a complete and utter upheaval of everything I'd thought I'd known about her.

_Wrong!_

Did she – _like_ me? Gods, I hoped not. She was nice and sweet and brilliant, but I'd known something was wrong from the second she'd touched my cheek.

I'd stiffened, and she'd run.

I couldn't say why, but I knew that kissing Hermione – Hermione kissing me – was bad. Not only was I opening doors to all sorts of untold disasters with Ron and Harry, but I felt like there was someone else it'd disappoint.

Many someones.

Which was ridiculous, because I hardly knew anyone at Hogwarts anyway. But it was instinct, and I wasn't about to argue with _that._

Besides, I didn't even like her…did I?

I didn't. I was sure I didn't. When she'd kissed me on the cheek, there was awkwardness and shock, but no familiar, painful-yet-pleasurable swoop in my stomach, no heat rushing up my neck into my cheeks…

There had to have been someone else, I reasoned, for me to know these things…someone with sun-colored hair and thin, hard lips that I'd felt not only on my left cheek, but my mouth, too…someone I'd somehow associated with pain.

But Hermione didn't mention it. She didn't even flush when she looked at me, and we pretended _it_ had never happened.

She'd received the message I didn't think I'd consciously sent and carried on entirely as usual.

.

Blast-ended Skrewts were, apparently, a project that Hagrid had thought would be fun. On a beautifully sleety morning a few days after Hermione's kiss was my first experience with the creatures.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron became more irritable as we walked down the hill toward Hagrid's, until finally standing in the pumpkin patch I grasped the severity of the situation.

They were horrors, they really were. Hibernation was out of the question, the boxes were obviously a bad idea, and within minutes, the Slytherins, Neville, and Parvati Patil had fled to the cabin, pressing up against the windows to watch us in our struggling.

"This is worse than that stupid dragon," Harry muttered to me as he flicked his wand at the second Skrewt destined for trussing.

I exhaled with a grin. "Oh, you have no idea." A shower of bright blue sparks made it hesitate for a second before barreling straight at Harry and knocking him down.

I was forced to intercede, kicking it as hard as I could in the mouth with my metal foot. It let out a howl as Hagrid yelled over the tumult, "Don' hurt 'em!" Harry grabbed a coil of rope from the ground and secured the stinger, face white with effort as he dragged it away. I rushed forward, grabbing on behind him. "Little help, Hagrid?" he grunted.

Hagrid relieved us of that one, and Harry straightened up, wiping his forehead and tilting slightly. Everyone except Hagrid and I, it seemed, was a little dizzy because of the fumes from the flying horses' trough. Apparently in modern Britain there was a drinking age limit, something unheard of on Berk. Although I'd never liked the taste of alcohol, I'd been around it more than enough to build up a tolerance to the fumes. Hagrid had less innocent reasons.

A cry caught my attention and I whipped around, almost falling, as Dean, the charcoal-skinned boy I'd noticed a while back (whose coloring Hermione explained as different descent. It was, understandably, a shock to realize there were other continents, although she enjoyed the surprise.) was slashed across the face by a Skrewt's stinger.

Hermione shouted a jinx from across the yard, subduing it, as she turned back to her prey. A few burns later (including a laughable attempt to fry me that got my prosthetic instead) all but one of the Skrewts had been returned to Hagrid's custody.

"Don' frighten 'im now," Hagrid called as Harry and Ron were forced up against the wall of Hagrid's cabin, shooting sparks to not much avail. I looped a rope and crept forward; Ron nodded quickly to signal a good time.

I dove for the stinger, forcing it downward. A huge blast of putrid fire exploded a foot over my body, and I flattened myself to the ground. A huge thud rocked right next to me as Hagrid threw himself onto the Skrewt. Holding it down with one massive knee, he held out a hand for the rope, which I hastily transferred to him.

"Oh, yeah," I muttered to Harry. "So-o much worse than dragons."

"Well, well, well… this _does _look like fun." A woman's voice projected over the scene. Harry's face screwed up in annoyance as he recognized whoever it was. I turned as Hermione and Ron came running up to us.

She was tall and grinning, with ringlets of an odd shade of blond hair, and dressed in a painfully, garishly pink cloak furred with purple at the neck.

"Who're you?" Hagrid panted, pulling on the rope, causing the Skrewt to stumble. Hermione drew in her breath sharply, and her eyes darted to Harry, then me.

"Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter," the woman said brightly. Glimmers of metal teeth stood out in her wide smile. I looked at Hermione for an explanation, but she didn't say anything.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore." Hagrid was frowning as he reached the others and fastened a chain around the last Skrewt's neck.

Rita Skeeter ignored that, and asked interestedly, "What are those fascinating creatures called?" Hermione fidgeted.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts." Hagrid was now dusting off his hands and looking at his cabin as if wondering whether the rest of the class would materialize soon.

"Really? I've never heard of them before…where do they come from?"

Hagrid was beginning to color, and Harry let out a low moan. It had to have been a bad place… and what had Rita done to be banned from the grounds? Hermione interjected speedily. "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they, _Harry_?"

With this, Rita Skeeter's curiosity was piqued. "What? Oh, yeah…" Harry winced with an "ouch" as Hermione stomped on his foot, "Interesting."

"Ah, you're here, Harry!" She looked at him sideways. "So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

I didn't have to guess at Harry's response. So far, he'd proven himself extraordinarily loyal to Hagrid and had told off Slytherins at least twice so far in the lesson. "Yes." Hagrid shone.

"Lovely. Really lovely." Her eyes swiveled back to Hagrid. "Been teaching long?"

She was like a Nadder, I thought vaguely. Quick and interested in everything around her, with uncomfortable focus. She looked over the class: all of us were at least a little bloodied or burnt, clothes torn, and she turned her head to the cabin, where the majority of the class still waited.

As she returned her attention to Hagrid, her gaze caught my metal leg, and a look of something like wonder – or joy – came across her face. Her eyes widened, and she stared at me. I stared back, expressionless.

"This is o'ny me second year," Hagrid told her. This time, it was Ron who sighed.

"Lovely…" Rita Skeeter chanced one more glance at me, then continued, "I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures. The _Prophet_ does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could features these – er – Bang-Ended Scoots."

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid corrected her enthusiastically. "Er – yeah, why not?"

Hermione, on my right, bit her lip. It struck me that they were scared – terrified – of this woman. For some reason, it was necessary to keep Hagrid out of her clutches for the time being.

I bent down as Rita asked whether there was a convenient place in the village to meet, and fumbled with an uncomfortable fold in my robes over my stump. The leg, though, was still searing from the earlier fire blast, and as I withdrew, I brushed my hand along it by accident.

"Ow!" Hermione gasped, hand flying to her mouth as I straightened up quickly, squeezing two burnt fingers. "Oh, gods – that hurt-"

The interview planning was interrupted as Hermione cried out, "Hagrid, look!" He turned, worry coming over his face as he saw my red fingers.

"Er – Hospital Wing, ev'rybody," he called over the yard, and Seamus, also holding blistering fingers, sighed in relief. "I'll clean up 'ere, yeh all get on teh lunch."

Hermione grabbed my elbow and led the other two up the sloping lawn as the bell rang. "She'll twist everything he says," Harry muttered malevolently.

"But at least we'll be able to warn him now that they don't have definite plans," I reminded him. "We can go down to see him tonight. Besides, what did she do-"

"Oh, Hiccup, that was genius," Hermione breathed. "But when did you get hit? I didn't see it."

"Umm… the big one over by the lake side of the garden. It was really confused when I didn't catch fire, but I guess it did me a favor." I grinned. "See, I told you guys it would come in handy one of these days."

We went up the steps to the castle, halting momentarily in the entrance hall. "Hospital," Hermione told me. "All we have to worry about now is whether Hagrid imported those Skrewts illegally or something…"

Harry grimaced, but Ron said, "Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore's never sacked him. Worst thing that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the Skrewts. Sorry…did I say worst? I meant best."

Hermione and Harry laughed, but I felt bad. What would happen to the Skrewts? Just because they were terrible didn't mean they didn't deserve a chance…

.

Unfortunately, Hermione's completely normal behavior meant that when she confided her after-class plan to visit the kitchens, _I_ was the confidante.

"You want to _what_?"

"You remember," Hermione snapped impatiently. "On your first day here, I asked the twins how to get to the kitchens. They said you go to this painting and tickle the pear, and it opens to the kitchens? House Elves. I'm going to go visit the House Elves, and tell them about S.P.E.W!"

I stared at her. I'd heard – in horrified and often condescending whispers – from the various Gryffindors and Ron about Hermione's mission to liberate House Elves everywhere. Although she'd never mentioned it to me directly, I knew all about her crusade the first week of school, forcing students into her "spew."

However, we'd never exactly gotten to talk about it. "Umm…why? I mean, I get the petitioning thing. Kind of. But, like, what are you going to talk to them for?" I was more than willing to admit Hermione had more experience in this area…but the one and only House-Elf I'd ever seen had seemed perfectly content. Even…joyful.

"They're miserable," Hermione explained slowly. "They're slaves! Forced to do wizards' work – Dobby! He told Harry all about having to – to burn his fingers and beat himself! It's obscene, and cruel, and-"

I stopped her. "Hold on…you said that Dumbledore has slaves? The House Elves are his slaves?" I thought back. If that was slavery in "modern" Britain, Hermione was lucky to have missed my time.

"Yes." Her eyes were bright. "That's why we have to stop it! So they get – get pension, and sick leaves, and pay!"

She was very, dramatically excited. "Okay, yeah. I never said I didn't want to go."

Hermione sighed, and caught herself abruptly, looking at me strangely. Suddenly, I got the feeling that Harry and Ron had never noticed how lonely she'd been.

.

The Hufflepuff hallway was warm and brightly lit, despite the wintry weather. Hermione pulled me along, looking at each painting quickly before moving on to the next, muttering about fruit bowls. I meandered a little slower and finally stopped in front of a painting that could have covered the Fat Lady's portrait. Hermione was farther along, still darting around looking quickly.

A large green fruit rested near my right shoulder, thin and pointy at the top and round at the bottom. I glanced at her, then decided to give it a shot.

I still felt ridiculous doing it, though. Furtively, I reached out and let my fingertips graze the pear; nothing happened. I twitched them a little harder, a little relieved, and just as I pulled away, the pear let out a shout of giggles and a large green handle appeared.

"Uh…Hermione?"

"What?" She moved still further away.

"Umm…yeah, I think I found it." As she sprinted back, I braced my feet and pulled.

A rush of warm, sweet air blasted over us. Hermione's eyes widened as she looked into the kitchens.

There had to be a hundred House-Elves – dozens, at least. They were all dressed the way the first one had been, in a little towel wrapped around their body and tied over a shoulder.

"Miss Granger!" A House-Elf's high, squeaky voice screamed from the back of the kitchen, and a little blur rocketed over to Hermione eagerly.

I stared. The House-Elf definitely recognized her, but she shot me a puzzled glance. The elf wasn't dressed in the uniform, either: he was wearing shorts and was bare chested, with mismatched socks and a wide grin. "Is Mr. Harry Potter with you?" He stood on tiptoe to peer past us, as if hoping Harry was hiding behind.

"Er, no," Hermione said, flustered. "Who are you?"

"Dobby, Miss! Dobby has seen the two of you together often, and Dobby thought he might come visit!" Her eyes widened, but I still had no idea what we were talking about.

"Uh, right. But-"

Hermione cut me off. "I'll go get Harry!" Then she grabbed my wrist and towed me through the portrait hole.

"That was the House-Elf that warned Harry about the Chamber of Secrets," she panted as we ran up the marble stairs. "He used to belong to the Malfoys."

"Huh. That poor thing."

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Harry tricked Mr. Malfoy into setting him free. Dobby idolizes Harry. He's going to be so excited to see him!"

"Understandable."

We caught up to Harry and Ron just as they were about to get into the common room.

"Harry! Harry, you've got to come – you've got to come, the most amazing thing's happened – please-" She gasped out the words, and I breathed deeply, shrugging at the Fat Lady, who was looking down at Hermione in amusement.

Hermione took Harry's arm and began to pull him back the way we'd come.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, resisting.

"I'll show you when we get there – oh, come on, quick-"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, who didn't offer any other opinion. "Okay." Hermione started to run again, Ron and I trailing a little behind.

"Oh, don't mind me," snapped the portrait from the end of the hall. "Don't apologize for bothering me! I'll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?"

"Yeah, thanks!" Ron called back.

"She always seems to be all irritated with everyone," I said as we clattered down a staircase. "Why does she do it if she doesn't want to?"

Ron snorted. "She loves us. But maybe Dumbledore makes her, who knows? Harry's godfather broke into the castle once in third year and shredded her portrait; she was really scared but had to come back eventually because the knight who replaced her let him in again."

"Harry's – Harry's godfather?"

"We all thought he was a criminal, but he's actually innocent," Ron told me. "He's on his way here, actually. Might be in the mountains already."

I let out a breathless laugh, not wanting to know the rest of the story, and ahead of us, Harry was asking, "Hermione, where are we going?"

"You'll see, you'll see in a minute!"

Harry came to his senses as soon as he saw the paintings of food. He looked at me, alarmed, obviously wondering whose side I was on here.

"Oh, hang on," he said slowly, forcing Hermione to come to a stop. "Wait a minute, Hermione…"

"What?" She was impatient and eager to show him, and her face was seconds from falling.

"I know what this is about." He elbowed Ron and pointed to the kitchen door.

"Hermione!" Ron sounded scandalized. Her eyebrows drew together, and I frowned. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"

"No, no, I'm not!" she said quickly, then added, "And it's not _spew,_ Ron-"

"Changed the name, have you?" Ron was making a face. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it-"

"I'm not asking you to," Hermione retorted. "Hiccup and I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and we found – oh, come on, Harry, I want to show you!"

Ron turned to glower at me. "You came down here _with_ her? Are you seriously going along with this stupid stuff?"

"It's not that stupid," I said. "She just takes it too seriously. It's not real slavery, and it's not her responsibility. I'm working on it-"

The door of the kitchen swung open and she pushed Harry forcibly inside. Dobby was squealing Harry's name and suddenly pelted straight into him, knocking him back a few steps; he would have fallen if not for Ron.

"D-Dobby?" Harry choked, massaging his ribs.

"It is Dobby, sir, it is! Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"

Dobby detached himself and beamed up at Harry. "Dobby, what're you doing here?"

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir! Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!"

"Winky?" I muttered to Hermione, who was watching the reunion with tears in her eyes.

"Another House-Elf," she said quickly. "Crouch's, one of the judges? You remember him. His elf was with us in the top box of the World Cup, and-"

"Winky? She's here too?"

"Mr. Crouch fired her because she left the tent and ran from the Death Eaters! Right in front of half the Ministry, too, and she had Harry's wand-"

"Yes, sir, yes!" Dobby latched his fingers around Harry's and yanked him own the room to the very back, in front of a sooty fireplace. "Winky, sir!"

"Explain a little more later, okay, Hermione?"

She wasn't dressed in the towel either, but a ratty, stained skirt and shirt.

Now _this_ was more comparable to slavery…but she wasn't exactly doing any work, sitting on this little stool all by herself…

"Hello, Winky," Harry said, and in response, she burst into tears for absolutely no reason at all.

"Oh, dear." Hermione's breaths were quick, and she wavered in front of Winky, unsure of how best to comfort her. "Winky, don't cry, please don't…"

Dobby was very unconcerned, still grinning wildly up at Harry. "Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?"

"Er – yeah, okay."

Instantly, a little squadron of elves appeared with tea and cups for each of us, milk, and cookies.

"Good service!" Ron was impressed as he took a handful, and Hermione shot him a dark look. The elves, in contrast, were pleased at the compliment, and bowed as they retreated.

"How long have you been here, Dobby?" Dobby was pouring the boiling tea expertly, despite it being well above his eye level. Hermione was watching, a little anxiously.

"Only a week, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a House-Elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed-"

Winky turned her volume up even higher.

"Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby, too, had to raise his voice to be heard, the pitch bordering on indistinguishably high. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!"

His speech was very strange…tenses and pronouns were mixed up, and strangely endearing. I wondered how he'd developed it, as the Malfoys obviously spoke well…

"Good for you, Dobby!" Hermione said, a little proudly.

"Thank you, miss! But most wizards doesn't want a House-Elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a House-Elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid."

Guilt was creeping up on Harry's face at Dobby's description of his past two years. "Harry Potter…Dobby likes being free!"

At this, I noticed how the other House-Elves were ignoring us. Dobby's words were repelling them like plague. Winky increased her crying even more, if possible. Her throat was going to tear if someone didn't make her shut up…

"And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!"

Winky finally had had enough, and she threw herself down on her face, flat against the floor, kicking and beating her hands against it. Hermione fell to her knees and spoke to her, but I couldn't hear what she said over the shrieking; it wasn't making any difference.

Was there a spell…?

"And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter, sir! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two House-Elves?' says Winky.

"And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!"

Dobby, too, was now crying, and the absolute contrast between his happiness and Winky's misery was almost laughable.

"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"

Dumbledore…didn't I need to see Dumbledore?

"That's not very much," Hermione yelled over Winky's cries.

"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," Dobby informed her, shivering. "But Dobby beat him down, miss…Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better."

I did…I knew I did…

"And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?" Hermione's words were said in a friendly tone, but even I could tell from the context that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Winky's tears turned off instantly, and fury sparked at the bottom of her watery eyes.

"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid! Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"

Was it about… it was about _home._ I remembered now: meeting Hermione the day before the First Task, forgetting Astrid's name – I needed to see him to put things right –

"Ashamed?" Hermione really didn't see, did she? "But – Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you-"

Before I forgot again…

Hermione was absorbed in the conversation with Winky, Ron was eating, and Harry was trying to listen to Dobby's loud squeaks.

I turned on my heel and walked unnoticed through the kitchen; all the elves had jobs to do. It was a cheery place, everyone working on a job diligently, almost like a village…not like the slavery Hermione had described it as at all…

Village. Right. Firmly, I planted the image of home, looking out from my doorstep over the houses in my head and pushed the door open, retreating into the hallway.

I would go. I would not forget this time.

I remembered the way to Dumbledore's office, somehow. The statue was still there, and the corridor deserted. There had been a password, I recalled.

"Uh, can you just let me in?" The statue didn't move. "Please?" I sighed. "Look, I'm struggling with amnesia and while I've got this on mind, I'd really like to talk to Dumbledore-"

It still didn't move. Was Dumbledore even up there? He probably didn't want to see me; he hadn't called me to his office, and wasn't I supposed to have left the day of the Task?

Yes. How long had that been?

I leaned against the cool stone wall and slid to the floor, breathing deeply. Home. Home with Toothless. As soon as I could find Dumbledore, that's where I'd be - I'd just have to wait until he came out, for dinner or something -

"Hiccup!"

I held on to the vision. His gummy smile, mismatched tailfins moving in perfect unison –

"What are you doing here? I got so worried when you weren't in the kitchen!"

I looked up. Hermione did indeed look worried, and puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

Fear swept over me, and I answered truthfully as a black image faded from my mind. "I don't know. I don't _remember_."


	12. Chapter 12

**Whoa! You've been accustomed to the drabbles, and now I surprise you with a full-blown chapter.**

**If I had time, I'd write the next chapter to publish within the next few days, but that most likely won't happen. I'll attempt it, though - I have a bit of it written already. It'd be a much better Christmas present than this one! **

**Yeah - forgive it. It's a little choppy and confused, but I wanted to get it out there soon. Merry Christmas! **

* * *

><p>"You're not serious. You have to be – maybe this was all a nice joke? Why would she be interested in…<em>that<em>?"

Hermione's face was almost purple with her rage. "Rita Skeeter isn't known for _joking_." Her hands were shaking so hard that the newspaper rattled; she crumpled it in her fist and smashed it against the bench. "She targeted Harry, through you."

Hermione had only managed to get through one or two lines of the paper before her meltdown. As I couldn't read it, she'd choked out the main point: Rita Skeeter was attacking Harry and his friend-making abilities and Hogwarts, everything from the performance of Madam Pomfrey to Dumbledore for letting me stay.

"She always does stuff like this," said Ron, who was the most calm out of all of us. I was wallowing in disbelief, and Harry hadn't spoken a word, teeth clenched tightly together. "Anything to have a jab at Dumbledore. And Harry's her little hero, remember? Gotta have a dark side to that."

Rita had told a truly horrifying tale of my presence – "_an act worth murder in the days of Hogwarts' founders," _my acceptance into Harry, Ron, and Hermione's circle "_adding yet another poor little boy to Hermione Granger's clutches,_" and focusing vividly on my leg, which she viewed as a blaspheme against magic and a sign that the wizarding world was about to end.

"I'll get her for this," Hermione hissed as Harry reached mechanically across the table and began to read the article, his face growing whiter and whiter. "She had _no right._ I swear, if I have to dig up Muggle libel laws, I'll do it. Slander!"

There was quite a bit more attention than usual thrown toward our segment of the Gryffindor table. Verja, sensing Hermione's anger, stalked across the table in front of my plate, chest thrown out.

Someone dropped into the seat beside me, making me jump. Fred threw an arm around my shoulders. "How's the cripple?" he asked in a melodramatic hush. "Coming along here, Hiccup? Sure you don't need a Firewhisky or two to help dull the pain in your heart?"

I cracked a smile. "Oh, dreadful. I'm about to pass out."

"You'll have a real job of the dancing, mate," George said loudly and jovially, scooting into the bench on my other side. "At the you-know-what coming up. Stepping on girls' toes all over the place."

Harry looked up. "What are you talking about?" Verja, noticing his inattention, took the opportunity and set the page aflame. He dropped it with a curse into his plate, where it lay smoldering in his porridge.

"No can tell," Fred shrugged. "We came to offer Hiccup our condolences, here. Real tough, hanging around you three all the time. It's a wonder he keeps up."

"Stop teasing him," Hermione said wearily. "You're just going to make it worse."

I groaned. "It's too much. I just can't take a joke, guys, you know that. Besides, it's mortal agony, remember? If I'm going to endanger the wizarding world as we know it, it might as well hurt."

Ron snorted. "I think he'll be fine, Hermione. But Fred, what were you…?"

George clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll see later. We've only found out early because of a new product in the works – and speaking of that, we've got business. Bye!"

I was still chuckling when they left.

But they didn't let it up. Every time I saw them for the rest of the day, they hurried over to check on me in theatric, dramatically loud voices. They kicked my leg out from under me in the halls and caught me before I fell. They offered tissues and pain potions and told people off for laughing at their antics. When Moody happened to walk by during one of these episodes, Fred ran to him, wrung his hand, and inquired after his leg as well.

It did seem to ease some of the awkward staring that kept after me, though. People seemed alerted that my presence at Hogwarts wasn't really normal and muttered to each other, wondering why a Squib was permitted to stay so long, or at all.

I tried to ignore it – I was sure I'd endured some derogatory comments in my time – but worried. I wasn't even a Squib, I had no magic at all, not a drop. Muggle to the core, and stuck at Hogwarts.

.

Harry and Ron goofed off more and more as the holidays drew closer, paying less attention in class in favor of hangman and joking around. Hermione was furious with both of them and took to the library more and more often by herself for the final push of tests before the holidays.

I was having attention problems as well, which garnered almost more intense disapproval from her, but they truly weren't my fault.

Although nowhere near as eager for the break as the students who actually had to work and nowhere near as stressed, I started having nightmares. I didn't sleep well, fire and haunting screams following me, and the terrifying sensation of uncontrolled freefall. Even while I was awake, images and sensations seemed implanted over reality, but when I reached for them, I couldn't understand.

I was staring off into space distractedly at the end of a transfiguration lesson when McGonagall's voice sliced through the room and caught Harry and Ron of guard, both sitting up quickly.

I blinked hard, shaking my head, and Hermione shot me a concerned glance, which I didn't answer.

"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age, I have something to say to you all."

My stomach tightened, sure she was about to impart the truth, but she wasn't looking at me. "The Yule Ball is approaching – a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above – although you may invite a younger student if you wish-"

Lavender and Parvati burst into giggles for no reason at all, and looked back at Harry, and my attention started to drift again. I tried to focus on the feel of salt, ingrained in clothing, the smell on the wind –

"Dress robes will be worn." McGonagall was speaking again. "And the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then-"

I'd already seen the dozen Snoggletog trees put up, actual trees instead of shields painted green –

"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to – er-"

I blinked, wondering what I'd thought odd about Christmas trees. Of course, these trees were magic, but –

"But that does NOT mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior-"

That didn't exactly specify… Next to me, Hermione was biting her lip and looking ill. The bell rang, and McGonagall called for Harry to join her.

Hermione hovered near the door for a moment as Harry walked to her desk, but Ron waved her on and we went to lunch.

"We're never going to find partners, you know," Ron told me conversationally. "Harry'll have a girl in seconds, you wait. But us three-" he gestured at Hermione "will be enjoying ourselves in a corner, making fun of him."

Hermione kept her eyes to her plate, and I nudged her. "What's wrong?" She shrugged and didn't reply.

Harry and Ron began to panic far sooner than was necessary. They conferred in classes, hallways, and didn't speak of almost anything else.

I thought it was interesting how girls just seemed to wait to be asked, giggling in their little groups instead of marching out and selecting who they wanted to go with.

I was forced to eat the sentiment when Ron and I witnessed Harry get asked to the ball by a third-year. He'd stammered out his no so quickly her eyes had filled with tears. The following day, two others, including a fifth year with impressive biceps and an aggressive aura.

"She was a foot taller than me," Harry tried to explain, looking terrified. "Imagine what I'd look like trying to dance with her!"

"In need of a chiropractor," I told him, and even he finally laughed at that. But as I followed them to Charms, I was thinking. She hadn't been quite a foot, and unconsciously, I rubbed my shoulder.

.

Our next lesson with Hagrid went far better than expected; we were preparing what passed as food for the Skrewts, which would be tested by the fifth years.

"Okay, this isn't really _dragon liver,_ right?" I sighed. "Okay, even if it is, please tell me it isn't."

Hagrid gave me a sad look. "'Fraid so, Hiccup. Mos' people jus' don agree with us. Think dragons are dang'rous. Use the blood n' guts fer all sorts a potions an magic. Some wandmakers evn put heartstrings in their wands."

"_What?_ No! But-"

"How did your interview with Rita Skeeter go, Hagrid?" Hermione was rocking a little in her chair, every muscle tense with anxiety.

Hagrid was willing to share his disappointment. "She didn' seem very int'rested in magical creatures, ter tell yeh the truth. She jus' wanted me ter talk about you, Harry. Well, I told her we'd been friends since I went ter fetch yeh from the Dursleys. 'Never had to tell him off in four years?' she said. 'Never played you up in lessons, has he?' I told her no, and she didn' seem happy at all. Yeh'd think she wanted me to say yeh were horrible, Harry."

"'Course she did," Harry snorted. "She can't keep writing about what a tragic little hero I am, it'll get boring. She's already started on me for being friends with Hiccup."

Hagrid's eyes widened. "What's she been sayin-"

"She wants a new angle, Hagrid," Ron said, shaking his head. "You were supposed to say Harry's a mad delinquent!"

"But he's not!"

"Not yet, anyway," I said to Hermione quietly. She stifled a giggle.

"Hanging out with Hermione, a Muggleborn, me, a practical pauper, and then we have Hiccup, the wounded Squib-"

"She should've interviewed Snape." Harry cut Ron off. "He'd give her the goods on me any day. _'Potter has been crossing lines ever since he first arrived at this school_…'"

"He said that?" Hagrid patted Harry on the back. "Well, yeh might've bent a few rules, Harry, bu' yeh're all righ' really, aren' you?"

"Cheers, Hagrid," he grinned.

"You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?" Ron looked up at Hagrid, who shuffled a little.

"Though' I might look in on it, yeah. Should be a good do, I reckon. You'll be openin the dancin', won yeh, Harry? Who're you takin'?"

Harry flushed deeply, sliced something red and gooey, and tossed it into the bowl with a squelch. "No one. Yet."

.

A week before the end of term, Hermione joined me in the common room in front of the fire. Harry and Ron were still at dinner; I'd left with Hermione but been sent on when she deserted to go to the library instead.

"Ron's not going to ask me to the Yule Ball." It was a fact, a bland, bald statement. I stared at her.

"Uh, no?" A thought hit me. "Did you want him to?"

Hermione gave a strange little shrug and didn't answer.

The next morning at breakfast, she was a little cheerier. "What're you all happy about?" I asked, angling my body away from Harry and Ron's conversation.

She smiled. "Last night, Viktor Krum asked me to the Yule Ball. I told him yes just now."

I was shocked. "Whoa – wow. Congratulations! I think. What happened to Ron?"

.

Fred and George interrupted Harry's and Ron's wasting time the day before the last day of term, and, for them, a potions test and instigated a fight between Ron and Hermione by bringing the Yule Ball topic back to the table.

"We _should_ get a move on, you know," Ron told Harry and I. "Ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls."

Harry gave a nod.

"Wait, trolls? Trolls?"

Hermione, reliable as she was, didn't answer. "A pair of…_what_, excuse me?"

"You actually know trolls?"

"Well – you know." Ron was nonchalant. "I'd rather go alone than with…" He thought for a moment. "Eloise Midgen, say."

"Her acne's loads better lately," Hermione protested. I nodded in agreement. "And she's really nice!"

"Her nose is off-center," Ron said, calmly superior.

"He has a point," I said lowly, switching sides. "The nose part is kind of her fault."

"Oh, I see." Hermione sniffed and stared down her nose at him. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"

Ron pretended to consider. "Er…yeah, that sounds about right."

"I'm going to bed."

.

The last day of term, Harry and Ron made a deal. By the time they both got back to the common room at the end of the day, they would have partners.

"You in on this, Hiccup?" Ron craned his neck to see me as I leaned against the wall, watching their huddle amusedly.

"Ah, no. I mean, George was sort of right. I'm not going to be doing much of the, uh, dancing."

"Your loss," Ron shrugged.

But to my surprise, two girls, (apparently very, very desperate), tried to ask _me_.

And, unfortunately, both came at the same time.

Nicolette Wayne, who hadn't spoken more than the odd shy hello to me since I'd made a place for myself with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, caught me on the first-floor landing in the rare moment I was by myself.

"Hi, Hiccup." She tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and didn't give me a chance to reciprocate the greeting. "I – um, I was wondering if – if you're not going to go to the Yule Ball with Hermione Granger, if you would, maybe, consider going with –"

"Hi, Hiccup!" Annie-the-Hufflepuff, who'd made it a point to wave enthusiastically every time she saw me, bounced up the marble staircase. "Why don't we go to the ball together?"

Nicolette's mouth wobbled and she pressed her lips together. "How _dare_ you!" Color rose from her collarbones to her hairline. "Couldn't you see that I was just about to ask him?"

"Want to go with me, Hiccup?" Annie asked again, over Nicolette's shoulder. "I'll be a better time than her, any-"

I took a small step back.

"Stop it!" Nicolette looked on the verge of tears. "Will you just _stop it?"_ Annie pushed her shoulder, and Nicolette slapped her. "You always take whatever I want!"

"Uh, uh -" I was panicking, and invented wildly, saying the first thing I could think of. "I – I have a girlfriend!"

Nicolette stopped. Annie stopped.

"N-not here," I stuttered, anxious to clarify what I meant. "Not Hermione. Um, at home. My home. Not here. So, I'm, like, not going with anyone. Wouldn't be fair. To her."

"To her," Nicolette repeated slowly. "Right."

"Liar," Annie tossed casually over her shoulder as they walked away.

I breathed out in relief, and a small monk in the painting across the hall looked at me sympathetically. "Close one, yes?"

"Oooh, yeah."

Home?

.

At lunch, Hermione flopped onto the bench beside me and whispered in my ear that Neville had asked her to go to the ball.

"I told him no," she said, frowning. "And I didn't want to go with him or anything, but I told him no, because of Krum, you know? But now everyone – Harry and Ron – they're going to think that I said no just because it's _Neville_."

"Neville's fine," I said. "Seriously, everyone needs to cut him some slack. Is he going to go with anyone, then?"

Hermione didn't know. "I told him Ginny wanted to come and didn't have anyone, so maybe he'll ask her and at least two people will have a nice night."

"Wait, what about you? Don't you think you're going to have fun with Krum? I mean, he's, like, a famous Quidditch player and everything. Should be interesting to talk to, right?"

"I suppose." After that, she wouldn't say another word on the subject.

.

After Potions, Harry ran off saying he'd meet us at dinner. Hermione, Ron, and I headed that way, debating who he was going to ask.

"I have no idea," Ron said glumly. "He never seems to pay attention to any girls. He's always just-"

"It's Cho Chang," Hermione said definitively. "I'll bet you any money you want, he's asking Cho Chang right now."

"Hang on a second," I said. "Isn't Cho Chang, like, taken? Tall champion guy who got burned at the First Task?"

Ron gave a shout of laughter. "You think she'll stick with him or go for the Boy Who Lived?"

Hermione looked at him severely. "I should hope she stays with Cedric. She wouldn't be a girl worth anything at all if she ditched him as soon as a better asker came around."

Ron pursed his lips. "But is there a higher asker than Harry?"

"Well, me, obviously," I snarked. "I actually had two girls fighting each other earlier today. It was kind of terrible. I bet it stinks to be famous."

Ron sighed. "Well, if I ever am, you'll be the first to know-"

"Hi, Ginny!" Hermione left Ron and I and hurried over to the doors of the Great Hall. "I heard you're going with Neville."

We went inside, and all the way to the Gryffindor table, the girls talking, before I realized we'd lost Ron. Hermione and Ginny were engaged in conversation ("Well, it's the only way I'd be allowed to go…" "Don't worry, he'll come to his senses eventually,") so I turned and went back to the Entrance Hall.

The scene I became witness to was rather horrifying.

"Ball with me?" Ron had a very scary look on his face, a kind of absence of intelligence, and I stared.

The woman – well, girl – he was talking to turned slowly, her white-gold hair flashing back as she tossed her head to look at him – the champion whose skirt had caught fire.

Ron seemed to shrink into himself, and the girl stared down at him. Then Ron turned and ran up the marble staircase.

I blinked, and turned to look back at the Great Hall. Ginny had come up beside me and was watching her brother disappear, open-mouthed. "Did you see that?" I asked her.

She nodded.

We followed a little slower. "He'll have gone to the common room," Ginny told me. "He's hiding."

"Mm." I coughed a little. "So, um, are you going with anyone? I'm not asking," I said hastily. "Just wondering."

"Neville," she admitted. "It's the only way I'll be allowed to go, since I'm not in fourth year yet… And I wasn't even his first choice. He asked Hermione first." She gave me a meaningful look.

"Oh, God. I don't even want to _go,_" I confessed, allowing her to steer the conversation away from a mention of Harry. "I mean, just sitting around and watching everybody else dance, and me, like, not dancing, by myself?"

"I heard you have a girlfriend," Ginny smirked. "'At home.'"

"I don't, I just – wait, how did you hear that?"

"Annie's in my Transfiguration class."

"But…yeah. She came up while Nicolette Wayne was trying to – uh, ask me out, and they started fighting, and-"

"And that was the only thing you could think of," Ginny finished. "You could've done worse. But everyone's going; you don't want to sit in the tower alone all night, do you?"

I shrugged.

The Fat Lady was in a cheerful mood, and we caught up to Ron just as he was stumbling through the portrait hole.

"You gonna live, Ron?"

Ron threw himself onto a couch, pressing his face into a pillow. Ginny raised her eyebrows at me and we sat on either side of him.

"It'll be all right, Ron," Ginny said smoothly. "We'll find you somebody to go to the dance with…"

Ron moaned. "Why? Why did I do it? Everyone saw – fool of myself – they'll be talking about this for years – can't – you can't let Fred and George find out about this-"

Harry had entered the common room, dismal and looking slightly crushed. "What's up, Ron?"

"Why did I do it?" he repeated. "I don't know what made me do it!"

Harry looked inquiringly at Ginny and I.

"He – er – just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him." Ginny's lips wavered into a half-smile, and she bit it back quickly.

Harry's glumness turned to horror. "You _what?"_

"I don't know what made me do it! What was I playing at? There were people – all around – I've gone mad – everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall – she was standing there talking to Diggory – and it sort of came over me – and I asked her!"

Ron hid his face in his arms. "Looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then – I dunno – I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry assured him. "You were right, she's part Veela, her grandmother was one. I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it-" his vibrancy faded "But she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang."

Ron looked up and made eye contact with me. I shrugged back.

Harry continued, toneless. "I asked her to go with me just now, and she told me."

"I guess this means we owe Hermione, like, money or something," I said, and Ron sniggered, then straightened up determinedly.

"This is mad," said Ron. "We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone – well, except Neville. Hey – guess who he asked? _Hermione_!"

"_What_?" Harry sat down, floored.

I was quiet, thinking. It was like politics, in a way, everyone choosing what information to impart, and what to keep to themselves. Ginny cast me a sad look.

"Yeah, I know!" Ron had perked up and began to laugh. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff – but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville…I mean, who would?"

"Don't-" Ginny tried to stop them. "Don't laugh at-"

Hermione appeared, looking confused as she sank into a chair opposite the couch. "Why weren't any of you at dinner?"

"Because – oh, shut up laughing, you two – because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!"

Harry and Ron spluttered into silence.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny," Ron growled.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" Hermione blinked innocently. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere_ who'll have you."

Ron was staring at her, eyes growing wider by the second.

"Hermione, Neville's right – you _are_ a girl…"

"Oh, well spotted," she sneered.

"Well – you can come with one of us!" He didn't include me in the blanket statement, and Hermione's eyes flickered over for a second before she snapped, "No, I can't."

"Oh, come on. We need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has…"

"I can't come with you because I'm already going with someone." Hermione's face was becoming pinker with every word.

"No, you're not," Ron said impatiently. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

"Oh, _did_ I? Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl!"

Ron watched her breathe heavily for a moment. "Okay, okay," he conceded with a grin. "We know you're a girl. That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you!" Hermione exploded. "I'm going with someone else!" She stood up and stomped up to the girls' dormitories.

"She's lying," Ron said, and I frowned. Why was Ron determined to believe that no one would have asked her?

"She's not," Ginny defended softly.

"Who is it then?" Ron latched on with laser focus.

"I'm not telling you, it's her business," Ginny began to say, and Ron's gaze swung over to me.

"She's not going with _Hiccup,_ is she?" His mouth dropped open.

"No!" Agitated, I stood, then sat again. "No, she's not. She actually does have a date, though, but I'm not going with anyone. I'd just look more stupid making some girl sit out of the dancing than sitting there by myself."

Ron tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Right. This is getting stupid. Ginny, _you_ can go with Harry, and I'll just-"

Ginny shot me a tragic look. "I can't. I'm going with – with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought…well…I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year." She sighed. "I think I'll go and have dinner." And looking defeated, she stood and left.

"What's got into them?" Ron said furiously.

Harry was watching something at the other side of the room. I turned to look, and saw Parvati and Lavender heading toward the dormitories from the portrait hole.

Harry stood, told us, "Wait here," and went over to stand directly in front of them, and said something. Loud giggles drifted over to our corner, and finally Parvati nodded, blushing and smiling. Harry's shoulders sagged with relief as he asked something else.

More giggles, and Harry took a step closer. They had a short conversation, then the girls scampered off, and Harry returned to the couch.

"Thank me later," he sighed. "Once this stupid ball is finished."


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi there. This Christmas chapter probably should have been updated, on, well, you know, Christmas. **

**The last time I updated, I wrote the first fourth of this, then reached into this document I'd written back in March 2012, at the beginning of this rollercoaster. I looked it over and realized that that Hiccup was wrong, and that the whole scene - the best in this story, if I say so myself - didn't fit.**

**Because, in the past two years, this story has taken on a life of its own. The first chapter, I made a point to credit ColorLikeWhoa, but this story has grown so much and so past anything we'd imagined it would be. **

**This thirteenth chapter (oh, the irony) is my favorite. Soon, it'll be yours, too. This is the one you've all been waiting for. I hope it was worth it.**

**After this, there're two more. An epilogue. And a sequel to pick up the pieces.**

* * *

><p>I woke abruptly and early on Christmas Day. I was on my feet in seconds, before my eyes were even open. I rubbed at one, and when I peered around the room, nothing seemed to be wrong.<p>

Then Harry's voice, a little faint, said from behind his curtains, "Just – just prod me or something in the future, all right, don't – bend over me like that…"

He ripped them back and reached for his glasses, pale and a little panicky. He was sitting up in bed, breathing erratically, and Dobby the House-Elf hovered nervously beyond his crossed legs.

I stared. The other boys were waking, too, and Seamus mumbled as he got up, "Someone attacking you, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "No, it's just Dobby. Go back to sleep."

Seamus decided not to in favor of present-opening. The others, too; wrapped packages were piled neatly at the end of each bed.

My things on the floor didn't have a pile, obviously. I stood against the wall, watching Dobby give Harry hand-knitted socks (which were truly awe-inspiring) and then disappear to join the gangs of elves already cooking dinner.

I went down the stairs and sat in the common room, looking at the feathery snow swirling thickly around the tower. It was bright and warm inside, and I smiled, thinking of each dormitory in the floors above me opening their presents.

Alone in front of the fire. I felt both happy and extremely desolate. Something nagged in the back of my head, and I pushed my hair back, frustrated.

"Happy Christmas, Hiccup!"

Hermione was dressed already, looking a little anxious. "I didn't know what to get you. Nothing seemed right – what could you possibly need?" She gave a small laugh.

"I…sanity?" I suggested.

She shrugged. "So I got you candy, like I usually get Harry and Ron." She brought out a box of Chocolate Frogs. I smiled at her as Harry and Ron clattered down, Harry outfitted in a new sweater with a dragon on the front, Ron wearing what looked like a very warm orange hat.

I'd never exactly acquired the taste for chocolate as everyone else had and Hermione insisted I would, and I left the frogs as inconspicuously as I could on the couch cushion as we went to breakfast.

.

Although Hermione hadn't originally wanted to participate in our afternoon snowball war, when she saw me team up with the twins, she whipped out her wand and stood by Harry and Ron.

I was slightly concerned – could a lifetime of defending against unexpected snowball attacks be any match for magic?

As it turned out, kind of. Harry had great aim but didn't like to use magic for it; Ron preferred to fortify his shelter, and Hermione laughed and flicked snow with her wand from a distance. Fred and George, thankfully, had no qualms about getting wet and dirty, throwing themselves into the snow and freezing it by magic to make Harry and Ron slip.

I was laughing at one such attempt, in which Hermione had been caught as well, until I took a step forward and fell flat on my face. "Oww…?"

"Hiccup?" Fred called. "All right there?"

"Uh, kind of?" Rubbing my chin where it had slammed into the ice-covered ground, I sat up. My iron leg was twisted on the stump, and, perplexed, I sat and turned to look.

It was caught in a rabbit hole – but that was only part of the problem. Carefully, I took hold of it and wrenched it out, tearing a clod of frozen ground with it. It was completely detached from me now, and I turned it over in my hands, astounded. It was frozen solid – the spring stuck and immobile.

"Free for all!" George yelled, and a ball of ice smashed into the back of my head. Grinning, I hastily strapped my leg back on and lunged after him.

Ron joined me in my pursuit, laughing gleefully, and soon it was every man for himself, except for Hermione, who giggled and watched, until she realized she was late for Yule Ball preparations and hurried off to the castle.

By the time it got dark, the others were freezing and it was definitely time to go in.

Fred and George disappeared into their dormitory and Harry and Ron dragged themselves all the way to ours at the top.

The common room was full of first, second, and third years chattering and musing over presents. I sat in front of the fire again, letting it dry out my robes.

They were back in minutes, Harry looking awkward in what was basically a green set of Hogwarts robes, Ron looking murderous in a dress with frayed cuffs. "Oh, come on," Ron implored me. "Keep me and Hermione company while we laugh at Harry."

"Nah." I gestured at the fire. "I'm gonna stay here. Like I said, I don't really have anything to do at the ball anyway."

I sat and watched the upperclassmen trickle down in groups. Parvati found Harry; they and Ron left together. Finally, Hermione came down alone from the girls' dormitories.

She was looking very unlike herself, her bushy hair shiny and smooth, gathered into a flawless up-do. She was finally standing straight, her shoulders square and self-assured. Polished and feminine – the result of her attention to her appearance. Just as her attention perfected anything she worked at.

"Hi, Hiccup." She grinned widely.

"Hey – whoa, wait a second. You waited until the other boys left, wh – did you seriously cook up the whole Viktor Krum thing for _that_?"

"Are you going to come down at all?" She was smiling at my reaction. "It'd be a shame to miss Ron's face, wouldn't it?"

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. "You're setting him up. I know what you're doing. And you want a witness, just in case Ron snaps and tries to take out an international Quidditch player. All right, you got me, I'm coming."

We had to hurry down to the hall, and I got lost in the crowd as Hermione went off to join Krum. She slid by his side as he led the Durmstrang students into the entrance hall.

I found Ron and Padma just as Harry and Parvati departed to man the doors.

"You did show up." Ron thumped me on the back. I shrugged.

The teachers went in before the students, Dumbledore leading the way. "Pro – professor?" I reached for his arm but drew back quickly. His light blue eyes swept over me with polite attention, waiting for me to speak.

My urgent concern fled.

"N- never mind."

.

Hermione and Harry spent the endless dinner at the High Table, and Ron and I sat at the same little table, not talking. Padma found a friend of hers and chatted, while ignoring Ron thoroughly. Ron gave me a strange look at the fish on my plate but didn't comment.

The band came in and set up after dinner ended, and I stayed in my seat with Ron as the champions rose.

Harry looked horrible, hurrying after Parvati, who led him across the dance floor instead of the other way around. Hermione, however, had finally caught Ron's attention with her first dance.

He recognized her – his scowl made that clear. It didn't help that she was breathtaking, actually dancing and looking amazing in Viktor Krum's arms.

A cluster of Butterbeer bottles appeared in the center of the table, and I twisted one open as Harry and Parvati returned, and handed him one. Parvati and Padma conferred for a moment or two, and both departed with Beauxbatons boys.

It was a good hour and a half into the Yule Ball when something – praise the Lord – caught my attention.

Harry and Ron were out, "getting air," after a minor blow-up about Hermione and Viktor Krum and to escape Percy, one of the older Weasley brothers, I was sitting by myself, having no interest in _that_ conversation, leaning my face on my fist and watching the dancers.

The door to the Great Hall was creaking open, very slightly – just a crack – and a girl poked her head in. She took a deep breath and closed the door behind her.

Her head tipped back, staring in awe at the enchanted ceiling, and then the magical, unmelting ice sculptures.

I squinted at her, a strange, unsettling feeling swirling up inside me. She had long, thick blond hair, falling loose and uninterrupted around her shoulders in a golden waterfall.

_Thin, hard lips pressed against my cheek _

Immediately, a Durmstrang boy got to one knee, obviously asking her to dance. She looked down at him, then took a quick, hopeless look at the hall. She shook her head. He rose, dejected, and slumped back to his friends, who received him with much jeering and backslapping.

The girl tucked some uneven bangs behind her left ear and scanned the hall again, stretching on tiptoe to see over the crowds of students, and our eyes connected.

Relief and joy shot through them briefly. Then her brows lowered and, losing no time, she marched through the dance floor, making directly for me.

I stared, watching her come, unapologetically disturbing numerous couples. She was, I realized as she came closer, wearing a _dress._ Not dress robes. It was a sleeveless blue thing with a deep red sash, and unlike the other girls around her, nothing she was wearing was impeding her progress.

She stopped directly in front of me and sized me up, head to single foot. And without trouble to lower her voice, she crossed her arms and half-shouted, "Where in Midgard have you _been?_"

Midgard…_Midgard…_

"H-here," I stammered. "Um…"

"Do you have any idea," she hissed, poking my chest with a hard, offensive finger, "How worried I've been? Your _dad's_ been? Don't even get me started on your _dragon._ Do you even care what's going on at home, or is it all fun and _balls_ here in Nifleheim?"

"N-no…yes? Is there – ah – a right answer – to this question? Because I really don't think-"

She punched me, harder than usual, on the arm. Hard enough to rock my chair back on its rear legs. Hard enough to hurt.

"Hey!" I grabbed it and scowled up at her. "Don't do that!"

"_You're used to it,_" she growled. "Or have your _four whole weeks_ here made you _softer than you were already_?"

"F-four weeks?" A tiny, barbed shard of information returned to my brain, hurting as I processed it. "I – I was only supposed to be here for – for a few _days_…"

"Yeah?" She snorted. "Well, it's been a Hel of a lot longer than that." Her voice dropped to a snarl. "Are you ready to go, or do you have a few more _dances_ to finish first?"

I was still staring at her. The dress was simple – beautiful – but looked ludicrously ornate on her, distracting from the pure, athletic feel about her – the visible biceps, the painful punch, the unerring focus…

Her eyes were a clear blue, the shade that can range everywhere from summer skies to glacial ice. Round nose, wide, honest face, perfect, straight white teeth…

"Umm…" I was still sitting, looking up at her. "I…know you, right?"

"_Know me,_" she snapped. We were beginning to draw some curious attention, and I fidgeted. "I've known you since we were _babies_," she spat. "Don't even try to pull this over on me, _Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third,_ or I might just leave you here to rot."

Something clicked. "H-Hi – that's my name," I told her, puzzled. "H-how-o-oh-kay, stupid question. You just said we knew each other. I mean, I knew the memory thing was bad, but seriously, that was, like, two sentences ago."

The girl rocked back on her high heels, wobbling as she staggered back a step. She was looking in at least moderate danger of falling, and I rose quickly, grabbing her shoulders and steadying her. Dumbly, I said the first thing that came into my head.

"Wow, walking like me now, huh? Watch your step."

Her face froze, and she mechanically reached up to hold my wrists, paused for a second, then violently pushed me back into my chair. "You sit," she snarled.

It took another moment before her reaction filtered to the surface. "H-he said you might not remember," she said quietly. Her eyes shifted to the floor, her feet, anywhere but at my face.

"W-who, exactly, said - ?"

"I didn't really believe it," she confided with a sad laugh. "I mean, I wouldn't put it past _Snotlout_ to give up and start over, as long as it involved violence, but you? Never."

One side of her hair, I noticed with more detail, was bangs, chopped just long enough to hide her left eye, and they blew forward, charmingly, when she sighed.

When she said, "How could you forget me?" there was a definite break in her voice. "Forget everything? Forget _him?_" She sank – collapsed, really – into the chair to my left.

"Uh…who is 'him'?"

"I asked you that question once," she said, with a small, dispirited smile. "And gods, did you show me. I just don't know how to do the same for you."

"Uh…still not really getting 'answer' vibes from you, if you know what I mean, so, if you don't mind, it'd be nice if-"

"_Toothless,_" she said, and it went off like a shot.

_You got it, Bud_

_Hey Toooothless, I brought breakfast, I ho – hope you're hungry_

_So why didn't __you_

_Yeah_

_Okay Toothless, time to disappear_

_N-no – __I don't have any more_

_Take this out on me, be mad at me, but __please__, don't hurt Toothless_

_Go baby! This is amazing! The wind in my – CHEET SHEAT! STOP_

_He was just protecting me! He's not __dangerous__ – _

_Yeah, yeah, I'm on it _

_Does my dad know you're here_

_Toothless, what are you doing, we need her to __like us__ – _

And then the voice of the girl next to me, filtered through a haze of confusion and frustration.

_"All right, I admit it. This is pretty cool. It's amazing. __He's__ amazing."_

"You were there," I said suddenly, with more conviction. "I…I _do_ know you." Flashes of her were screaming through my memory.

_Her laughing _

_Her gripping me from behind _

_Her cornering me, her throwing me to the ground_

_Her staring across the belly of a dragon, axe half raised_

_Her watching me climb down the stairs _

_Her standing behind me as I yelped and burned my wrist _

_Her punching me for scaring her, and pecking me for everything else _

_Her pushing me in the shoulder to walk forward _

_Her rowing next to me, making a face _

_Her grinning at a stupid joke _

_Her muttering next to me _

_Her slamming into a bone beside me in a huge ribcage, fire streaming over and between us_

_Her grabbing my wrist and twisting it, hard, the tendons snapping across it with an audible series of cracks _

_Her cursing and swinging her axe into a stone floor _

_Her knocking on my door and stumbling inside _

_Her brushing snow off her hair and grinning, flicking the water at me_

_Her looking back at me smugly and kicking her mount to greater speed _

_Her and my dad exchanging exasperated looks _

_Her eyes, wide and fearful _

_Her ducking a blast, scrambling across slick stones_

_Her scowling as I entered a room _

_Her pushing an axe into my throat, livid with rage _

_Her sliding off a large boulder, sunlight in her hair _

_Her arms around me, holding desperately on _

_Her tucking her choppy bangs behind her left ear and telling me to be careful_

_Her promising me something – something so important – so important _

_Her grabbing my shoulders and holding me steady, preventing a nasty fall _

_Her boots hooked around my waist, screaming in my ear _

_Her hanging from a tree branch, shouting up at me _

_Her swinging a bucket artfully at the nearest fire, outlined in the blast _

_Her looking at me shyly _

_Her saluting someone and wrapping her hard forearms around my chest _

_Her slapping my outstretched hand away _

_Her hiding behind my scrawny shoulders from something larger than life_

_Her punching the air in success _

_Her pushing a book disgustedly across a table at me and turning away _

_Her stepping on my face and yanking something off my arm _

_Her kissing me on the cheek and running away _

_Her mouth moving in silent stupefaction _

_Her spreading her arms, not expecting to fly _

_Her face lighting up from the stars _

_Her arms lifted, clouds just out of her reach_

_Her body smacking against something hard and blue, winds dragging _

_Her falling, screaming, cartwheeling through the air _

_Her laughing, grinning up at me, held by an ankle _

_Her landing heavily and stumbling, whispering something _

_The feel of her fingers twisted in my collar _

"Y-you usually wear you hair in a braid. With a fillet," I spouted, hardly knowing what I was saying. "Spikes. Bird skulls. One time, you held your wand to my throat."

Her eyes were wide, but they narrowed in anger the longer I spoke. "I don't know what _lies_ they've been telling you here, Hiccup, but neither of us are _magical._"

"I…I know that," I said, beginning to frown in earnest now. "I'm – I'm a Muggle."

She slammed a hand against the table. "No." She took hold of my shoulder and shook it brutally. "_You. Are. A. Viking."_

My eyelids fluttered as I tried to focus. "I – _what?_"

"You are." Her eyes were hard, and her moment of soft brokenness seemed to have reached its end.

This – none of this was making any sense at all. Everything – had been fine, but now I was conscious of huge gaps, cloudiness in my mind as I stretched to remember.

"I _know_ you."

_I am a Viking…I'M A VIKING_

"I know you do." She leaned forward and grabbed my other shoulder, forcing me still. "And if there's one thing I know about _you,_ it's that _nothing_ will stop you once you get your head set on something." She looked into my face. "Remember. _Please._"

I _could – not _ -

Fragments were snapping back into place: windswept land, long grasses, freezing cold. Men with thick beards and deep laughter, women with long braids and not-so-gentle remonstrations.

I was holding my head, trying to keep the images. I looked up at the hall, and as confused as I was, everything that had become so familiar suddenly felt _wrong._

My stomach flipped.

_The sensation of strong, vicious winds ripping through my hair _

The room was big, too brightly lit. Too dry. Too…strange. Foreign. New.

Agitation surged through me, crawling over my skin, forcing me to stand. I ran exasperated, desperate hands through my hair, closing my eyes and searching …

_A reflection – a shadow – on water, dark wings spread wide – happiness, freedom - _

_A huge fist, almost as large as my head, shoving backward, knocking me to the floor _

"Wh-why would anyone do this to me?" My voice was a lot smaller than I'd heard it in a long time. "What is going on?"

The girl set her jaw, took a deep breath, and pushed her half-bangs behind her left ear, the way she did when she was unsure of herself. "That's it. No matter if you believe me or not, we're going _home._ Now."

"I – I – but I – I-"

She stood and placed her hands on her hips, knuckles grinding into her thin hipbones.

_Red leather, a skirt made of strips, spikes screwed in _

_A stretchy, sleeveless shirt of_ _nålebinding, scratchy and soft against my arms, the underside of my chin…_

"What am I…doing here?"

_A man, seven foot two, larger than life, wild red beard _

_Braided blond mustache, a hook-for-hand; mug, tongs, mace, axe – _

"Pants!"

The girl looked at me like I was crazy – which, at the moment, I felt I was. But it was far from the first time she'd given me that look. "_What_ did you just say?"

"Tell me about pants," I said quickly. "Fast. Before I forget – somebody – somebody's pants, I – I said something about – having – having nightmares…didn't I?"

Her eyes widened suddenly, with something a little like happiness mixed into the shock, and under her breath she muttered, "Oh, of all the gods-cursed things on this earth, he remembers _that_?"

"Uh – I – I think I'm losing-"

"Gobber," she said rapidly, and harsh clarity bit into my brain with every word.

"He taught you everything you know. Smithing. Metal." Her arm jerked up and pointed. "He made that for you. Your leg."

In a daze, I looked down at my left leg. Absent as usual, but –

"I remember it," I said slowly, in wonder.

_Hollow, emptiness in my stomach, revulsion, terror, and some glimmer of – gratitude, peace – as I gaped, mouth open, up at – _

"Fire – there was so much fire-"

_Panic – fear – hopelessness – _

She was watching me closely. "I've actually never heard you talk about that before," she said hoarsely.

"Please," I said desperately, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Please keep talking."

I trusted her – more than I'd ever trusted another human being in my life, and I needed to know _why._

"You were an infant when you mom died," she said, firmly and clearly. "Your dad was a mess. When you were a toddler, he kind of handed you off to Gobber. You never really hung out with the rest of us."

"No," I said faintly.

_The smell of molten iron – _

_The sensation of the oppressive heat of the forge, but camaraderie – _

"I didn't."

"You learned to make the weapons the rest of us were learning to use."

"Gobber…" I drew the word out slowly, and raised my left arm, waving it around. "Isn't there…something going on with his arm?"

"If by "going on" you mean gone, sure," she snorted. "Right leg, too. Gets all confused about socks-"

"And trolls." I stared at her. "I know – I _know_ somebody told me I was lucky I'd never have another left sock again."

"And yet you still tell the leg jokes," she mumbled. "I'm sure they've been going over real well."

One side of my mouth turned up. "Nah. Not really."

I tried to keep hold of the image the girl's words had turned up. A huge man, usually sarcastic and gruff, but who nearly always had a smile or a word of praise…

"He insisted his house was set on fire by a Boneknapper, and you made us go-"

"Dragons. We – dragons." I stopped talking, unsure of myself. "Right? Dragons?"

She let out a long breath. "Lots and lots of dragons. We used to fight them. But not anymore. Because of you."

"Uh…oookay…"

She stood suddenly, looking unsure of herself. Then, before I could protest, she took a step forward and locked her forearms around my neck. My arms flew out, sure I was about to be pushed over. When my balance wasn't compromised, I tentatively hugged her back.

_That's for kidnapping me. And that's – for everything else _

"You've kissed me before," I said. "I'm – uh, remembering some of that."

_That's for __scaring __me Wh-what, is it always gonna be this way? Because I – could get used to it_

"Seriously?" For a second, she looked just like any other excited fourth-year girl. "Do you remember – anything else? Right about that time? You were unconscious for a while, and-"

"I was?"

_Hey, Toothless…okay, okay! I'm happy to see you too, Bud…_

"Almost an entire day." She took a step back, holding me away from her by the shoulders, the way she would after making sure I hadn't done anything stupid, assuring herself of my well-being. The worry was more pronounced than ever, and she peered intensely into my eyes. "I- um, I'm going to do something stupid," she warned me. "And a maybe little crazy."

I was frowning, looking at the floor, then her feet. Heels…high heels… why did that seem wrong to me? It was perfectly normal, but –

She took a deep breath, steeling herself to do something. She took one hand off my shoulders and held it to her body, and I noticed that she had large calluses, on the pads of every finger, even on some parts of her palm…

I took my left hand away from her back and examined it. Calluses – there was no way I'd gotten calluses like that here, at Hogwarts. Calluses I'd never really noticed before, beginning to fade on the undersides of my fingers, from gripping something hard. A callus on the pad of my thumb, from gripping something wider and rougher than a quill. Tiny red scars on my hands that I remembered had burned –

"Maybe this will help you remember," she murmured, and punched the side of my left arm, high, almost at the shoulder.

A starburst of pain spread from the point of impact, and I reached for it, and words stumbled out of my mouth before I could understand what they were.

"Astrid! What was that for?"

I looked at the girl, slightly angry. To my surprise, she was smiling. "It's a good thing I punch you all the time," she said flippantly. "Now the indignation's just a reflex."

She… was standing in front of me, _now,_ in the twenty-first century, crashing a ball for witches and wizards, hands-on-hips, a very self-satisfied look attempting to conceal the worry on her face.

"Astrid," I said slowly, and then breathed, "_Astrid!"_

Astrid was having a hard time not laughing from joy, I could tell. She stepped close to me again, reaching to touch my face. I took her hand and moved it, distracted. It was like she'd loosed a floodgate in my head, clarity returning for the first time in –

"Wh – oh my gods. I've been here a month. A _month._" Baffled, I sat down in the nearest chair, rubbing my head with my hand. "Oh, gods. This is…so…so messed up – I never meant to be here-" My memories were returning at different speeds: some promptly, but I could sense a few still out of reach.

_This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery._

Vikings. Berk.

_I am a Viking. I'M A VIKING!_

That seemed right. _Yes,_ that was right.

Astrid, who was possibly not quite a girlfriend. My father, Stoick the Vast, the most feared Viking Chieftain in the Inner Isles. Gobber, who'd given me a cursory clap on the shoulder as he motioned to my leg –

_That bit's my handiwork, with a little Hiccup flair thrown in_

_Welcome home_

"Oh, gods. Astrid, I'm so sorry – I didn't mean for – for any of this to happen, they just _took_ me, I didn't mean to forget you, I – I just got here, and I didn't know how to get back, and I kept for-forgetting things, everything, but-"

"Why?" Her expression was fierce. "What happened here? Who made you forget?"

"I…" I shook my head. "I don't know. Let's – let's just leave, get out of here – wait, how did you get here anyway?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," she said under her breath, and nudged me.

"Hiccup?" Hermione was standing next to Viktor Krum at the edge of the dance floor, a crumpled expression on her face. "Hiccup, what's going-"

"This," I told Astrid tightly, "Is Hermione Granger." I turned to her, and simultaneously, pain and rage rose up to compete with each other in my throat.

"I'm supposed to be at _home,_" I told her angrily, swiping a hand through the air. "This whole month, you had to have _known_ it was _magic_ keeping me from – from remembering all about-"

Astrid moved to stand slightly in front of me and looked Hermione up and down, apparently unimpressed with what she saw. Loudly and deliberately, she cracked her knuckles. "Hiccup, is she the one who-"

"I don't know why you kept forgetting," Hermione insisted, and to my shock, horror, and slight pleasure, I realized she was crying. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. "I – I did research on it, and I couldn't figure it out, but I-"

"_It wasn't okay,_ all right? You – you can't just let people – let people _drift away_ like that-"

"Hermy-own?" Krum interrupted, politely confused. "Vot is going on?"

"I'm _sorry,_" Hermione sobbed, ignoring Krum completely. "There wasn't anything I could have _done,_ I _tried-_"

"You could have told Dumbledore," I exploded. "You could have done _something,_ because thanks to – to everything, and _you,_ I couldn't – and-" She was shaking now, with the force of her sobs. "You let me – let me get _happy here,_" I spat, disgusted. "You – you made it seem like it was all normal, all good and okay, but it _wasn't._"

"I really am sorry," Hermione choked, and Viktor Krum anxiously put a hand on her shoulder.

_Something_ was still wrong. My ears felt blocked, hot, and my vision swam for a moment before the last, missing puzzle piece slammed home, and I turned to Astrid suddenly, wide-eyed, sick and clammy with fear.

"_Toothless._"

Hermione rushed forward to stand right in front of me, and hovered for a second. I could tell what she wanted to do – throw herself forward for a hug, and just as she gathered herself for the effort, I backed away and grabbed Astrid's arm.

Her fingers curled urgently around mine, sweaty and strong. I didn't look back as we exited the hall.

By the time we cleared the threshold, I was trembling and just about ready to collapse. Astrid stopped for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached into a pocket I hadn't noticed before, letting go of my hand for a moment.

Seconds later, she drew out a scrap of something brown and scraggly, and I recognized it, blankly, as part of a bearskin. Realization jolted through me: a ragged piece of the vest I'd worn, it seemed, a lifetime ago.

"Wait – how did you - ?"

Astrid shook her head, too weary for words. Still holding the fragment, she clenched her hand immovably around mine, and through the gaps in our fingers, the Portkey glowed blue.


	14. Chapter 14

**A few things to note, so we can avoid reviews protesting my non-adherence to canonical things revealed in the show - this story, I'll remind you, is set threeish weeks after The Legend of the Boneknapper and perhaps a month before Gift of the Night Fury. 1) I don't buy into the twins's stupidity. 2) The twins's Zippleback was unnamed until summer 2012, when it was revealed on Cartoon Network's RoB sight. It wasn't used until the show. **

**I've begun to realize that apology is futile with this story, because it's just how I work, the sporadic updates.**

**It won't work like that anymore. Although May is the worst month of the year, I will finish this story before twelve o'clock on June thirteenth. I swear to all of you, the readers and reviewers and thousands of silent admirers who don't say a word but root for me privately. **

**I'm not sure I can or will accept the new things and the new characters in the second movie. I've spent too long living in Hiccup's world in my head, imagining a hundred thousand different futures and scenarios; HTTYD changed my life, and I find it hard to accept even the show as part of it, let alone a movie. I hope that doesn't change your opinion of me or of this story, but that's the way it is. I can't have this pivotal and vital part of my life, a goal that's kept me going, moving past and beyond for months and months, expanding not only my writing skills, but my community of fellow Hiccup lovers and friends on the internet, even my knowledge of irrelevant Viking lore and facts and smartmouth jokes I never got to use. **

**So it will be finished. I promise.**

* * *

><p>We hit the ground hard, hard enough to send Astrid tumbling and me sprawling flat on my face.<p>

The first thing I noticed, rubbing my forehead and pushing off the ground, was the noise. Although a castle housing a thousand is rarely silent, it didn't sound like this.

No, this was water, powerful Nordic waves pulsing, exploding, against the cliffs. This was the irregular wind tearing through what was left of the devastated winter trees. This was spurts of birdsong and roars of dragons.

The smell was distinct, too. Earthy and wet, salty and fresh.

This was Berk.

This was Home.

"Oh, my gods…" Away from the magic that had infected my mind for so long, every emotion I'd ever felt seemed to sweep over me at once in an overwhelming and painful tide.

Memories I hadn't thought of back in the Great Hall clamored for my attention. I braced myself, hands digging into the dirt against the onslaught.

Me walking along this path, going away from the village. What my house looked like. My dad's voice, the sounds of Ruff and Tuff arguing, the feel of my now-missing left leg hooked into a stirrup, and –

"Toothless!"

My eyes snapped open and I gasped, the recent weeks crashing over me with even more force than they had the first time.

Astrid dropped the Portkey and grabbed me by the shoulder, hauling me upright and then to my feet. I stared at her – the transfiguration worn off, her dress was gone, back to her usual spiked shirt and armor. Her loose hair was the only thing left, and her fingers moved rapidly through the thick strands, twisting it back into the tight braid.

I stared down at my arms, covered in the scratchy soft green sleeves, and my vest, which felt strange and heavy after the thin wizard's robes. I looked back at Astrid as she pushed her fillet up over her nose, flipping the bangs out of the way and making eye contact.

She looked, if possible, even more worried than before. "Hiccup – I should have told you earlier – but I was just so glad to have _found_ you, and I thought that maybe if you knew you wouldn't want to come back -" She gulped hard. "Well, he's gone."

"Go-gone?" I stuttered, shocked beyond comprehension. "What do you mean, _gone?_" I paused. "Like, GONE?" _Dead?_

Astrid's eyes were filling with tears for the first time since we'd been eight and Tuffnut had taken a bite out of her hand and she'd used it, bleeding freely, to knock out a few of his teeth – an event I remembered with increasing, gratifying clarity.

She heard the unspoken word.

"Yeah," she said lowly, her voice hoarse. My heart seized. "I'm – so sorry…he stuck around for a while, a few days, after you dis-disappeared. Him and your dad…I mean, he just found this shred from your vest…" I stared at her, feeling the firm ground rocking under my feet. I was going to throw up. "And…then one day he just left. We've looked all over the island for him, thinking he might be, like, trapped in that cove again or something, and obviously he can't get off Berk, but…" Astrid's eyes were contracted and fearful. "How far do you think he can swim?"

The relief – the relief of not knowing, the relief that confirmed Toothless might still be…okay, somewhere, was even more painful to feel rushing up my throat than the horror, the grief. The absolute, concentrated terror. I was going to throw up.

"N-not far," I heard myself saying. "H-his t-tail…"

The relief, the grief – those were receding like the tide, leaving a burning, throbbing headache in place. Fear. Panic spread to my fingers and toes.

"So…what do we do?"

_Pretend._

"Well…" There was only one thing to do, despite how much I wanted to race through the woods, screaming Toothless's name. "First…" My knees were wobbly and weak, and I leaned hard against a tree. "First, we go through the village, freaking everybody out when they realize I'm alive and relieving them when they realize they won't have to endure a lifetime of Snotlout being chief. Then…we'll go talk to my dad."

Astrid nodded once, face set. I'd forgotten – obviously – her steadfast faith in me. She didn't seem to have noticed my meltdown. "You ready for this, or…?"

"Truthfully?" I blew out a long breath and looked at her. "Not at all. But – it's the first step to finding Toothless. For – for everyone to finally go back to normal."

"Okay." Astrid brushed back her bangs and nodded. "Let's do it."

The distance of the walk back to the village was short, and it put me on edge. Maybe the essentials were coming back, but judgment? Details? I was terrified, and trying to clamp down one of Gobber's most creative arms down on the feeling to keep my head clear.

Head clear. Ha.

I was slightly more in shock with every step, the uneven ground exaggerating the unevenness in my gait, grinding pain into my forehead.

The village was surprising in how silent it was, when we reached it. People went about their business in a slightly subdued way. I peered around one of the trees right at the treeline to the main path going in to the village.

"It was like this right after the Red Death," Astrid said, startling me. "Even though it was great that we weren't in danger all the time anymore, everyone was really depressed. We all thought you were going to die. Now…" she sighed. "Now, everyone's pretty sure you're dead."

I gave a weak smile. "Well, it makes sense, I guess – have been gone a while…"

"Yeah, not ready for the jokes yet," Astrid confessed.

"Just like you're not ready for the leg jokes yet?"

"Exactly like that," Astrid snapped. "Well, are you going to – to go in, or are you going to make me force you?"

"N-no, I – I'm good. I'm good. I promise, I-" _Toothless,_ I reminded myself, ice creeping into my veins at the thought. _Toothless._ "I'm going," I said quickly. "Going!" I stepped out from the trees. "Gone!"

My plan was to walk nonchalantly through the village. Vikings moped about their chores, dispiritedly storing food and milking yaks, mending fences, roofs. My stomach flipped as I gave a calm wave. "Nice milk there, Ack," I said, leaning into his pasture, seriously impressed. "That was from _that_ sow? Whew. And – em, are ya doin' somethin' different with your beard?"

My presence, as I expected, caused immediate sensation. Vikings jumped over their fences, leaving and dropping things in their joy, abandoning every task. The dragons, picking up on the mood, roared in curiosity. They rushed me, ecstatic to see me alive.

"Hiccup!"

"He's alive!"

"Where've you been?"

"Why were you gone so long?"

"Where's Toothless?"

"Yep, glad to be here," I said, grinning widely enough to split my face. I felt like shrinking and cringing and curling up in my bed with Toothless wrapped around the bedposts. I received rousing punches and slaps on the back, enough that I felt lucky nothing was dislocated. "I should probably catch up with my dad at some point, though, 'fore he tears the village apart lookin' for me."

This instigated a round of roaring laughter, more than my jokes usually did.

I was still smiling as I made my way up the hill.

"So…" I looked around. "Where are the other kids? I'd have kind of expected an interrogation by now, at least, I mean, from Fishlegs…"

Astrid's lips thinned. "Well…um, Hiccup, I'm gonna have to-"

"Oh, no," I said, frowning and stepping in front of her, hands on hips. "I am _not _going to hear any more bad news from _you_ today, young lady."

"Warn you," Astrid finished. "I mean, the village took it hard, and they didn't really know you like we…Fishlegs, Snotlout, the twins…they haven't been themselves lately. Neither have…have I. They're probably at the cove. We've been spending a lot of time there lately, hoping-"

The farther she got along with her explanation, the sicker I felt. My…our cove, filled with the…the others? The place I'd hid Toothless for so long, the place more familiar and special than my own bedroom…

"Hoping Toothless might come back. Remember all the good times you two had there. But, um, your disappearance hit your dad _really_ hard."

I stared at her, apprehensive. Waves of stress and information pounded at my brain. How much more could I take?

"How hard is _really_ hard?"

Was that a wince? "You…you'll see."

I was starting to get a really nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach now, and despite the pain in my stump from the forceful landing, I pushed myself up the hill more quickly.

I stopped with Astrid at the door to my house. Just as I somewhat remembered it. This incarnation had been built the week before the dragon raid I'd shot down Toothless. I pressed my ear to the door. It was eerily silent.

I looked at Astrid. She gestured.

"I'm not going in," I frowned at her, "until you explain what 'really hard' means."

Astrid's lips thinned.

"No, you're going to tell me _right now_ what you mean. I am _not_ walking in there blind."

She bit her lip, grabbed my arm, and dragged me a few feet away from the door.

Astrid put her fingers to her forehead, brushing her aside her bangs and pressing into the skin. "It…it's hard to explain," she said, and her voice shivered. "He – um, well, he had Gothi look into the future. And, well, she said that she saw you sick and far away."

"And then what?" I dreaded the answer.

"He's, uh, taken to dr-drinking a little bit. And he…" she paused, then continued tentatively. "And thinks he's spoken to your…um, your draugr, and-"

My eyes popped. "My _draugr?_"

Definitely a wince, something I'd never seen Astrid do before. "Yeah."

"Oh, there are so many ways for this to go, and none of them are good," I muttered, and slowly creaked the door open.

It was dark. The firepit wasn't even embers now, just cold ash. My newly-constructed window was closed. And my father was hunched in his throne over the table, a tankard of mead in front of him, his eyes glazed over.

I glanced back at Astrid, not sure if I was fearful or angry. The self-confidence I'd so recently obtained seemed to have been squished out of me in the past month. Cautiously, I laid a hand on my father's forearm. He didn't move. I shook it slightly.

"Stoick?" Astrid's voice was higher than usual, inflected in a way she'd never spoken to me. Gentle. A caretaker's tone. A sudden suspicion dawned – Astrid had been looking after my father for the past few weeks. "Chief?"

My dad lifted heavy lids, squinting blearily to bring Astrid into focus and alighting on me. "Oh, Son," he said, words sliding out past numbed lips. "Oh, Son, I'm so – so sorry-"

"Gods, Astrid, how much has he had to _drink?_"

She was biting her lip, keeping near the front door. "It's not just the mead now," she mumbled. "He…well, you know, we didn't treat you right. And…according to your dad, your draugr is taking its revenge."

"Do I really seem like the vengeful type?" I motioned to myself in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Astrid tilted her head, considering, and gave a shrug. "You need to face this now. If you don't, you never will." After a short pause, she walked forward and bumped my arm. "We need his help to find Toothless."

"Right about Toothless, and…egggggggggh about Dad," I groaned. "P-probably true." I heaved a deep breath. "Sooo…now all I've got to do is convince my dad I'm alive, hunt down the missing teenagers from this village, and rescue my dragon. All in a day's work, am I right?"

"I'm glad they didn't magic your cynicism out of you," Astrid replied.

My attention was drawn back to my dad with a snap. He put his face in his hands and devolved into what, if I didn't know better, could have been _crying_. "All my fault," he mumbled. "All my fault."

"No, no, nooooo, Dad, it's all – it's all gonna be fine-" Treating him like this felt distinctly unnatural, almost as bad, I imagined, as if he'd attempt to talk to me like this. "I swear to Odin, it's really me, alive and tangible and, um…"

I took a hesitant step closer to my dad, trying to ignore the horrible squeak of long-unoiled spring. At the sound, my dad's eyelids fluttered and he looked more closely at me.

"Umm, Astrid?" I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. "Does – did – uh, well, when he was, um, _convinced_ that he was hanging out with my draugr, did he specify, like, what, um-" The words that were about to come out of my mouth were going to be so painfully awkward. "A-age I was, or, like, pre-Red Death or post-Red Death?"

Astrid didn't know. But now that I thought about it, I didn't remember my dad and I ever having a…real conversation about my leg. (Not that my non-remembering accounted to much, these days.) I'm sure his reaction was different from mine, waking up after an indeterminate unconscious period…

"Oh, gods, _please_ don't tell me-"

"Forgive me, Hiccup, I'm so sorry," my dad continued to say. "I – I didn't mean – and-"

I pulled out my chair opposite his throne and sat down carefully, pressing my hands against the rough wooden table. "So. Um. Seriously. Back. Intact and everything, right foot's still around, thank the gods…"

"What did I tell you about the leg jokes?" Astrid hissed, eyes wide.

"Well, they're not ineffective," I snapped, as my dad blinked harder. "It's really me. Alive. I'm a little surprised about that myself, but, umm, not gonna haunt you, and…" I swallowed. "Seen Toothless lately?"

His huge head shook, and his voice was thicker than I could ever remember it. "No, son, I failed you, and-"

I turned to Astrid. "Look, I'm not gettin' anywhere. Suggestions are officially open."

Astrid rubbed her hands on her upper arms. "I don't know, I've never gotten drunk before, but…wouldn't an _imagined_ you kind of act like the real you? I mean, what's something you wouldn't ever do?"

"Oh, so many things…"

My dad continued to apologize, shaking his head, eyes closed, trying to block out the proceedings.

"Well…" she shrugged. "Maybe doing something a little…crazy…would shock him out of it."

I nodded slowly. "Like? But – there are so many crazy things I _would_ do, I mean, we've all got experience with _that._"

"I'm not sure…you…you're just going to have to do what you think is best. Do – do you want me to wait outside?"

"No! I mean, _no._ No thanks. I'd rather, um, have some moral support here? He's kinda difficult to deal with on a _good_ day, so…you know, worst I've ever seen him."

Although she looked uncomfortable, Astrid complied, still shifting her weight from foot to foot. I turned my attention back to my father.

"Well, Dad, I…I'm not really sure what to do now, which I guess is a surprise for you. Usually pretty confident, huh?" I forced a laugh. "Aaand I feel like I'm talking to a corpse, in this weird, creepy way. Guess that's what you felt like while I was out. Umm, remembering that, you'll be glad to know. I had some, ah, _amnesia_ issues recently, but-" I gave another nervous laugh and knocked on my skull. "Good as new. I think."

No change. "Weeelll,"I told Astrid, "I'm seeing the 'really hard' part now, believe you me. How long's he been like this?"

"Mmm…" She averted her eyes. "A couple weeks? He held out until Toothless left. I mean, I've always heard he fell apart after your mom died. Then you, his only son, disappear, and then his last connection to you up and leaves…"

"Yep, seeing the point, please don't continue…"

I turned back to look at him sternly, and made up my mind. "Dad," I said, loudly and firmly, right into his face. "Without your help, I'm never going to find Toothless. I'm serious. I need your help." I shook his shoulders, as violently as I was capable of, and his eyelids flew open, hands dropping to the table in shock. "I am _begging you to help me._"

"Stoick," Astrid interjected, "I was just there. He was…um, abducted, and-"

"Sorta," I corrected. "It was mostly my own fault for being interested in the trap, but, well, you know me…curiosity killed the Terrible Terror…"

Her words seemed to have done the trick. My dad's eyes widened, and my heart jumped. "Yep. Turns out that wizards – yeah, you heard me – are really nowhere near stubborn enough to deal with dragons the way we do. With, like, kindness and stuff." I peered at him again.

"Giants," my dad spat, and reached for the hook I'd installed months and months ago next to the door, easily within his enormous arm's reach, grabbing his helmet and settling it on the top of his head. Hope rose, bubbling and choking, until I grinned, hard.

"Not really, but I fixed up that whole…issue, but there was some other stuff going on, and they didn't exactly get around to sending me back until, well, I have no idea what to call it, but last night? Or, like, thirty minutes ago, but it's afternoon here, and, well, just – just thank Astrid for that one."

He nodded grimly.

"So…um…Dad? You in there? I don't plan to be a draugr anytime soon. Or ever, really. Valhalla sounds better from where I'm limping."

"Leg jokes," Astrid snapped from the door.

He was completely alert now. "Son." He reached across the table and gripped my shoulder, then stood and pulled me into his arms.

"Totally not dead," I assured him, my voice muffled in his chest. "Uh, can't breathe-"

He loosened his grip and held me at arm's length, disbelieving and beaming. "Son," he said again. "_Son._"

"Yep, it's me," I said happily. "And I promise you, I'm never goin' anywhere, like, ever again."

"Where did you go?" My dad was concerned and anxious, waiting for my answer.

"Oh, Dad, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Which I will! Of course. Right now. So. My trip." I gave a cough, unnecessarily clearing my throat. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of Astrid listening. "First, completely involuntary. Let's get that straight. Well, I guess you'd figured that out already, because Toothless, but, um, anyway, there was some magic involved. Pretty cool stuff, but not really my thing. Met some nice people. Turns out, the whole kidnapping thing was just because of a _dragon_ issue. So, well, cleared that up for 'em, but then there was this as-of-yet unexplained memory issue, but, like I said a minute ago, it's all over now. Good as new." I coughed again, awkward at the end of my speech. Astrid and my dad were both staring at me, open-mouthed.

"What?" I said defensively, crossing my arms. "It's _true,_ I swear, I'm not crazy."

"Well," my dad said to Astrid, beginning to get over the shock, "He did _train dragons._"

"Yeah, he did," Astrid agreed faintly.

He nodded again, ready for action, and stood, moving to put out the fire but stopping when seeing it was already out, then going to the wall, hefting his sword, and fitting it back into his belt.

I looked sideways at Astrid.

"I think you're going to have to explain to him, right now, that a revenge mission isn't going to be possible at the moment."

"Yeah…" I said awkwardly, stepping in front of my dad and reaching to hold his shoulders. "Yeah…not only have I _totally taken care of it,_ but there was that weird thing going on with the future, and, like, magic, and…well, it's complicated." I sighed. "It'll take forever to explain, and there was this girl I spent time with, who figured the whole Viking thing out and knew I was having issues and didn't do anything about it…and I left her in the Great Hall crying."

Astrid's eyes narrowed.

"There'll be time for that later," he said, deep voice normal and strong, and the way that I like to hear it. "Have you seen the village?"

"Yes, first shock over with," I nodded sharply.

"Now, what were you saying about Toothless?"

The fear I'd been trying to suppress during the encounter swelled and popped. "I – I've got to find him, Dad. He – I – I – I don't really think he can hunt without me, and…it's been _weeks_."

"There's no way Toothless could have gotten off the island," Astrid said, straightening her skirt and rolling her shoulders, bouncing once on the balls of her feet, ready.

"I know you guys have been over the island a hundred times already, but…we need to do it again. It'll be different this time." I cleared my throat again. "I…I can find him. I know it."

My dad rubbed his chin, somewhere underneath the beard. "You're right, Hiccup," he said, readying even as he glanced at me again in wonder. "Round up the other teens; I'll get Gobber and lead men on the ground. Snotlout can lead the adult dragon-riders through the air."

I nodded. "Okay. Sounds good. Tell Gobber hi for me, and-"

"Son?" My dad reached over and slapped me hard on the back, then hugged me hard, lifting me up into the air and dropping me. "I'm glad you're back."

I smiled up at him, suddenly feeling six, little(er) and admiring and wanting to be just like him. "Me too, Dad. Me too."

"Okay, let's go," Astrid prompted, and went to the door letting herself out and holding the door. I looked back as my dad straightened his helmet in the doorway, saluted, and followed, letting the door slam shut.

"So – where's Stormfly?" I asked as we rushed through the village.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I was at home by myself when I – um – came to get you. Let's check by my house."

Stormfly's overturned boat was empty. "So. We proceed on foot."

"Lead the way, Hiccup."

We walked quickly, and I tried to hide both my stabbing pain and my breathlessness. She didn't ask if I was okay, and I'd never made my way out of the village with more urgency.

I didn't linger or hesitate the way I had at the village once we arrived. Panic was overtaking me as the sun started to brush the treetops – it would be so much more difficult to find Toothless in the dark, especially because of his natural coloring.

Hide-and-seek. Was that really the start of this whole thing? I almost laughed. Full circle indeed. If we hadn't been playing and I'd been with Toothless, would I have even looked twice at Hagrid's boot? Probably. But it was likely that Toothless would have ended up coming with me.

"Hi guys, I'm back," I said, hopping down to the first rock in my customary path to the floor of the cove, scrambling more than usual and taking a nasty whack to the head on the shield I'd gotten stuck at the entrance a lifetime ago.

Snotlout was lying flat on his back on the large rock central to the land part of the cove, Hookfang wrapped around it. The one, I remembered, Toothless had perched on when I first brought him fish. The one where Astrid had overheard me voicing my plans to leave and slid down, prepared to shake me down for answers.

That jealousy was laughable now.

Fishlegs was curled up against Meatlug's side, and the twins were lounging on their Zippleback's heads, staring into the water while Stormfly preened at her reflection.

"Hiccup!" Fishlegs slammed into me with the force of a medium-sized Blast-Ended Skrewt. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back," he squealed, crushing me in a hug.

"Hey! Hiccup, where've you _been_?"

"Whoa, Hiccup's back!"

"Yeah, dude, we missed you."

"_So_ boring here without you…"

"Have you seen your dad?" Fishlegs's large face was anxious.

"Yeah," I said quickly. "It's all good. So!" I took a deep breath and started again, overwhelmed by the contact and mental activity, the strain.

"All right. We've got a lot of ground to cover before sundown. Fishlegs, Snotlout, you two go with the adults on dragons. Dad 'n Gobber'll get the ground forces under control."

"Umm…" Fishlegs raised a tentative hand. "Wouldn't it be more statistically, er…_certain_ if we had a good night's rest and started looking again in the morning?" He quailed under the incredulous looks. "Or not. No time like the present, am I right? Am I right?"

"What're we gonna do?" Ruff asked, as Fishlegs nodded embarrassedly and Snotlout gave me a salute.

"We…" I sighed. "We are going to take Belchbarf and Stormfly and check a few of the places you guys didn't know to look."

"How big is this island anyway?" Tuffnut muttered in exasperation. "Why does he always know all the good spots?"

"Because I had no friends as a child," I tossed over my shoulder as I climbed up on Stormfly's back in front of Astrid.

"I know you don't always like what I have to tell you," Astrid began as she hiked herself up behind me. "But you're acting different. A lot. Do you just need to sleep or something, or did that wacky place ruin a few more things you haven't told me about?"

Her voice was only loud enough and pointed enough for me to hear over the twins' discussion of the best hiding places on Berk. She was concerned, and I really wished I could stop making everyone worry about me. But I was afraid. Hogwarts had taken my life away; what else had it done that I would never be able to figure out?

"I'm fine," I said shortly, hoping she could tell I was lying and hoping she wouldn't call me out on it. "Or, I'll be as fine as I need to be once we find Toothless."

I paused, trying not to let hopelessness sweep over me for the twentieth time. One, maybe Astrid and Fishlegs were right about the sleep thing. At Hogwarts it'd been late at night. Home, mid-afternoon. Too many hours. Two…

"So, how thorough was your thorough search anyway?" I asked in a louder voice. "Like, moderately thorough, somewhat thorough, or so thorough you want to tear your eyes out thorough?"

"We looked _everywhere_," Ruff said emphatically.

"We were worried when the two of you didn't come back…and we knew that if we didn't have Toothless, there wasn't gonna be a chance of finding you," Tuff finished.

I blew out a long breath. "Well! Look at how the dice fell. Astrid finds me and then I have to go find Toothless."

"We'll find him," Astrid said strongly, trying to be encouraging. I could feel her holding her breath, hoping it was true.

"No," Ruffnut said, thinking it over. "Hiccup will find him. Toothless doesn't even care about us, especially not the way he does about you. He'll want to be found.

Tuff was shocked. "Do you think he's been _hiding_ from us? For a whole _month_?"

"Maybe," Astrid muttered. "If he thought we were getting in his way. To find you."

For some reason, the obvious hadn't occurred to me yet. "You guys…you think he's…he's out there somewhere, looking…for me?"

Astrid leaned around me to take a good look at my face. The twins stared at me, baffled. Tuff lifted a hand and raised a finger. "One. You two go off to the woods together." He shrugged. "Nothing unusual. You don't come back. Toothless does. Two. You don't show up. Toothless and your dad go crazy. Days pass. Three. Toothless finds a shred of your clothing, and disappears."

When he said it, it made sense. But…was that really the way Toothless worked? By striking out on his own and leaving Astrid and my dad on their own? That…that wasn't why he left. There had to be another reason. Toothless wasn't stupid; he must have known it would take more than his efforts to find me…and that my dad and Astrid would need his help. Need each others' help.

Or had I been away so long, forgotten so much…that I didn't even know Toothless anymore?

An icy feeling crept down my chest.

"Yeah," I said, and it was barely a squeak. "I mean, I'm sure that's it."

I patted Stormfly's neck. "Ready, girl? Come on, let's go find Toothless."

Stormfly launched herself into the air. And although my stomach twinged painfully and I wanted stirrups and I wanted Toothless, it was a comfort almost tearjerking to be flying again.

The wind, rushing through my hair and biting my face and the feeling of dependency, trusting your life to another creature in the void of air, the connection that, although there, wasn't the same between Stormfly and me as it was between Toothless and I.

I had no idea what Toothless was capable of, now. After being trapped in the cove for weeks, he'd been able to climb out to save me. Would he be grounded, or could I find him on Berk's highest mountain?

The first two caves we tried were empty, but I wasn't phased. There were dozens of secret spots we inhabited on Berk, places to sneak away from the celebrity and the hero worship or to hide after an argument with Dad or an overexciting party. Places that I was sure no one else had touched, places that were just our own.

The three meadows we frequented – one wild, one tiny and barely a meadow, high in the mountains, and one that used to be for sheep before it started falling in – were empty, no sign of him anywhere.

The bluff, high and wide and grassy, where I sat to think and tested my newest additions to our flying gear, desolate and sad in the falling sunlight. The cliff, barely a ledge of crumbly rock, showed no evidence of having been discovered. With every place I checked and revealed to Astrid and Ruff and Tuff, a piece of my connection with Toothless, our special places, seemed to chip away.

And so did my hope, my resolve. I may have lost him already.

The tide was in, and it would make the final hiding spot harder than ever to check.

In low tide, the sea cave was more easily accessible, only a few feet of water to wade through, walking along the bottom and diving to duck under the rim. In high tide, six or seven feet covered that rim of the cave, making it that much harder and more arduous to get to.

Either high or low, Toothless and I usually took it at a speed, splashing in from high in the air, zooming along under the water and coming up laughing on dry land.

I had no reason to think Toothless might favor here over the other six places I hadn't yet checked, but none of them seemed likely enough. And I wanted to make the excursion before the cave, always blocked by water and concealed from sunlight, was pitch black.

I tried to explain. Stormfly wasn't fast or strong enough; the Zippleback's body just wasn't built for that kind of swimming. It wasn't a long swim, but I had a feeling either of them would panic, forced into the unknown with humans on their backs.

And to my surprise, none of them protested. Astrid looked worried, but also looked like she'd do the same thing in a heartbeat for Stormfly. And I kept sequestered the very real feeling to me that no dragon meant anywhere near the same thing to their human than Toothless did to me.

I left Astrid with my vest and my leg, trying to ignore the way she held it, awkward and careful, but also kind of revolted. I held my breath, swung my right leg over Stormfly's shoulders, and immediately lost my balance, sliding off and into the sea.

It still wasn't cold yet; not cold the way it would be once the real snows came, when it turned to ice and hail and it was beautiful and exhilarating to venture outside. The water was way out of my depth, and I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in my life, swimming at dusk in an autumn sea with only half the propulsion I should have. Balance was difficult, progress was slow, but not impossible.

I ducked under and kicked hard, cupped my hands and pressed hard, trying to compensate, scalp going cold with the water, salt numbing my lips, sticking to my sleeves.

The rim of the cave had never seemed so far away, and I when I reached it, I grabbed the rocky exterior with relief, using it to push myself underneath, and coming up gasping in the near-darkness within.

There was a blue-green, watery light, tinged with purple and orange from the setting sun, making the inside just light enough to see outlines, black on black. I blinked, adjusting. And it was completely quiet except for the sound of something – maybe some_one_ – breathing.

It could have been anything. Anyone. It could have been a Thunderdrum, a Scauldron, or a Viking taking a short swim. I crawled out of the water and carefully pulled myself into a sitting position, dripping and not yet beginning to shiver.

The thing stood, and I could tell from the large shape and four legs that it wasn't human. And as it neared me, I could make out details. True black, natural coloring, not a trick of the cave. Scales crusted over with salt, headfins held helplessly – not tightly, in fear or anger, not loose, in trust or happiness, and wide, yellow-green eyes, pupils narrow and vertical and scared.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Choked my throat. Spilled out in my voice. _"Toothless._"


	15. Chapter 15

**The first draft of this was the worst thing I've written since my first Harry Potter fanfictions. Just wanted to get that out there. **

**One more left, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>Toothless<em> - _" _I scooted closer to him, reaching out a hand. "Oh, Toothless…Bud, you ha – I am so glad to see you." He backed away, pupils narrower than ever.

He was whining; it was an eerie, frightened noise that made my stomach sour and the tears start to squeeze out of the corners of my eyes. They were dripping now, and I braced myself against the floor, preparing to stand – anything to get closer. But instead of knocking me over, eager to lick the salt and tears off my face and sniff me for damage, Toothless retreated farther into the darkness.

I wobbled into a standing position as the sun finally sank below the water, obscuring us both in complete blackness. "Bud, what's wrong?" I hoped for the best and hopped, immediately tripping over a now-invisible rock and pitching forward.

I was fully expecting Toothless's usual, dependable rescue. All his Night Fury speed, rushing to catch me with the top of his head and neck.

It was this that made the skinned and bleeding heels of my hands sting more than any cut I'd ever gotten before.

The tears were coming more freely now. Absurdly, I was at least minimally grateful that no one except Toothless was there to see. My throat seemed thick and hot, the stale, salty air choking me. The salt on the rocks worked its way into my bloodstream, burning like molten iron – or a badly brewed potion.

I became aware, slowly, of the pain in my knees, my elbows, bruising and tender from my fall, but I couldn't get past my disbelief.

He didn't catch me.

For the first time ever.

No – that wasn't right. For the first time since we survived the Red Death together. For the first time since he flung me off his tail into the pond in the cove, the semi-triumphant culmination of our fourth encounter.

For the first time that mattered.

Then, breathing. Hard and anxious breathing, but also tentative and gentle and strong enough to start warming my wet, cold hair.

He was close to me.

I held my breath. A nudge. My side, the soft part between hip and ribcage. I was startled into gulping, tears momentarily stopped for fear they would drive him further away. I wiped my smarting palms along my soaking tunic, hoping for some relief, and received none.

Without averting my useless gaze from the ground, I extended my hand. Waited for him to make the second move, the contact, the one that mattered, the way our give-and-take relationship worked.

His response surprised me. Unlike our first moment of contact, where he placed his face into my palm, or the innumerable subsequent occurrences of him pressing against me for rubbing or scratching or just the assurance that I was there.

He licked my fingertips.

Strangely, the pain – abandonment, loneliness, hopelessness – quieted some.

Occasionally, in the way perceptive animals do, Toothless would lick my stump. In his mind, maybe he figured it would help it be better. Maybe he was just mourning the pain we'd caused each other. Depending on the day, it would tickle or sometimes provoke twinges of phantom sensation. But more often than not, it would soothe the pain a little, if only from the comfort of his attention.

His tongue licked farther, coating my whole palm in slippery saliva.

His way of apology. For my fall, and maybe even for my prolonged and difficult absence.

I reached farther, landing my hand on his head and stroking; fingering the tiny bumps and ridges of scales on the top of his head, then the headfins. Finally I maneuvered into a sitting position and stretched both my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his chest.

"Oh, Toothless, I am so sorry," I whispered, ducking my face, his warm and familiar scales brushing my cheeks, the tiny scar from the potion burn near my eye. Toothless lowered his head too, pressing me close. "I didn't mean for this to happen. You know I'd never – never leave you on purpose…"

Even without seeing, I knew his eyes were closed, like mine.

His hard breathing slowed until his big and my little lungs were breathing at the same relaxed rate, resting in silence.

And I was terrified to move, afraid of destroying it forever. "Buddy," I said quietly. "Are we planning on goin' back to the village tonight?"

Toothless didn't acknowledge me. "No, then. I'll just…um, well, I've kind of got to tell the others that, you know, you and I are alive, and…"

He lifted his head, and I could feel him cocking it curiously at me. "Yep, I'll just – I'll just go now, then. Be back. Um, soon."

It was a miracle, I thought, as I almost fell back into the water, that he was willing to let me out of his sight at all. The salt water burned like fire on my hands and skin as I felt my way back out of the cave, coming up coughing and spluttering.

"Hiccup!"

Blinking in the moonlight, I saw Astrid lunge over Stormfly's back, offering her hand. I half-kicked over to her, grabbing hold of the stirrup to keep afloat. "Was he there?"

I nodded, closing my eyes. The twins cheered. "Well…why isn't he back here?"

I opened them again, looking at her worried face against the stars. She was still holding onto my vest and my leg, and looking restless, like she was ready to strip off her armor and dive after me to make sure I was okay. "We're…uh…we're working through some issues," I said, as casually as I could. "He doesn't really trust me, and I totally agree, because I'm not really sure what to think either, and-"

Astrid nodded like she understood, and I felt a flash of irritation. "So, um, just let my dad know I'm fine, and, ah…see you all in the morning," I said awkwardly, taking a deep breath and steeling myself to go back under.

"What?" Astrid squawked, startled. "You – you're going back?"

"Yeah?" I said, raising an eyebrow, angry. "What did you expect me to do? Leave him again? For another night for him to stay in that stupid dark cave by himself?"

"Maybe," she retorted. "Because your dad's been going out of his mind, you know he has. Because I think maybe one night in whatever Hel-hole might just do you in. I'm not sure if I should expect to see you in the morning!"

"Because I was _kidnapped_ I'm not allowed to go out of your sight, now?" My voice was rising, and all I wanted was to crawl up next to Toothless's warm body and let his wings shelter me from humans. "I have to stay where I'm safe, and not where I'm _needed?_"

"Fine." Astrid turned away from me, folding my vest around my leg compulsively, and I tried not to grab them away from her. "Fine. Do whatever. I just hope I'm going to be able to continue this argument with you in the future. I'm not sure I'm going to go to the future and rescue you the next time."

The twins watched in silence as Astrid patted Stormfly's neck and urged her skyward. I released the stirrup and floundered for a moment, and they followed her. "Night, Hiccup!"

"Yeah, goodnight, Hiccup!"

"Why'd you say that, I already said it first!"

I took my deep breath all over again and swam back to Toothless.

.

When I woke up shortly after dawn, I had more than a moment of panic. I shot up, gasping, staring at the sun-washed walls of the cave, reflected through the water. I wasn't staring at the finely built stone walls of Hogwarts, and I wasn't looking up at my shaking wooden ceiling.

I'd fallen asleep curled next to Toothless's side, pressed close for warmth. He lifted an eyelid at my sudden startle, then snapped awake immediately, jumping to his feet.

And now – there it was. He sniffed me up and down, finally, eyes wide and eager. "I'm here, Buddy. I know. I'm sorry."

Now he started licking my face, and unlike the night before, where it felt like if I breathed the wrong way our bond would break, now I moved away, laughing. "Ewww, that's – ew, that's disgusting – I don't lick _your_ face-"

He pushed my down with a paw, flopping onto my chest, not bothering to keep his weight off me and laughing a draconic and teasing laugh. "Ooof. Was that really necessary, Bud? I mean, I know you're here, you know _I'm_ here, I'm not goin' anywhere-"

He licked the whole front of my shirt – "Gross!" – and then rolled off me, wiggling his tail and making a barking noise.

"Leave? You ready?"

Now that I could observe the cave in daylight, I could see all the marks of Toothless's presence. Burns covering the place, ceiling to floor. Most of them from his bed-making, like the hot, charred stone on which we'd slept last night, but some undoubtedly caused by firing out of frustration. "I'm sorry," I whispered again.

He'd also managed to create a small pool of water. At first I couldn't figure out its purpose, although I could see the rocks he'd had to move to create it, before it hit me. At the highest, most stormy tides (actually, pretty much every night), water would flood over his barrier, undoubtedly bringing fish with it. A clever way to trap the fish he needed to survive without needing to hunt from the air.

"Well," I said, as brightly as I could, as he noticed me looking, "We can get back to the hunting. Right now, if you want. I'm sure you're hungry, after a month of…this."

He sent one more sweeping gaze around the cave, then locked eyes with me. "Ready, Bud?"

Getting out for the final time was much easier with Toothless's help than going in. I held onto his neck as he propelled us as steadily through the water as he could, and I realized he'd learned to compensate for the missing fin, in the water, if not in the air. He leaned more heavily to the left, using the secondary tailfins and his wing, and it occurred to me with a wince how much that must hurt – even if he'd developed the muscles and overcome the soreness, his back and bones would strain from the unnatural motion. And flying would be torture after that. It would take forever to get both of us back to speed.

Back to being the best.

Shore came quickly, so quickly I almost wanted it to recede into the distance to prolong what I knew would be the last solitary moments Toothless and I would have for a while.

I had to hop, with Toothless as my crutch, all the way back to the village. And to my surprise, my aching head – still filling in details – and much-abused stump didn't hurt nearly as bad as yesterday.

Astrid had kindly left my things on my bed, a fact I appreciated as Toothless helped me up the stairs. My stump protested, but I was glad for the secure feeling of my vest over my shoulders and chest, especially compared to the flimsy feeling of wizard's robes.

Toothless was shedding small particles of salt everywhere, but I didn't really care, and in the lack of a woman in the house, I knew my dad wouldn't either. I was practically giddy, and I saddled Toothless up as quickly as my clumsy fingers could remember.

"Oh! Sorry!" It was difficult to remember the smallest details of the harness and my whole rig. The tiny parts that held the entire thing together. "Whoops, I – I didn't mean to-" I pinched his scaly skin too many times, and I rediscovered that one little scrap of the left fin that I had to be so careful not to squish with the prosthetic. "Yeah, we could just give up now, you know…"

We arrived at Astrid's house after traveling the short distance on foot, waking her up. She answered the door, angry and pale, and immediately her face twisted, a mixture of relief and fury.

"You're fine," she eventually observed.

"As much as I ever am," I admitted. "So, um, I guess this is an attempt at an apology, but not really, because I don't really consider myself to be at fault, and, well-"

"I'm not sorry either," she said, crossing her arms. Apparently I'd caught her unprepared. Her hair, although still braided, lacked its usual fillet, and her forehead looked strange and big in result, with a whiter strip going over her eyes. She didn't have her shoulderpads on, or her spiked skirt, and was barefooted.

"So…are we both justified, or neither of us?" I said, frowning.

"You know what? I don't care," she replied, staring at me, then stepping out of her doorway and closing the door as quietly as she could. "I'm just glad you're alive."

"Me too - !" It was a quick peck, and I stumbled back into Toothless while she brushed back her bangs and blushed and looked pleased with herself.

"What was-"

"I wanted to do that yesterday," she confided, smiling. "But I was afraid you might freak out in the middle of that dance thing."

"Um, yes," I said, trying and failing to scowl at her. "Yeah, because I don't exactly have girls throwing themselves at me on a daily basis-"

"The girl who was crying looked like she was going to miss you," Astrid said offhandedly, leaning back against her house and looking like she wanted something to fiddle with in her hands.

"Uh, yeah, she probably will," I said uncomfortably. "But, you know, she just about ruined my life, so…I'm not too upset about it." This was only partially a lie. Yes, Hermione and I had been close, briefly. But my anger consumed the good times we'd enjoyed, and I wanted to forget it had ever happened.

Now the relief was more prominent on Astrid's face. "So…I don't have to get too worked up and jealous? Good. Um, are you planning to…enlighten the village?"

I sighed, thinking it over. Anything seemed possible now that I had Toothless back on my side. "Sure. Why not. It's not like I've got anything to lose."

.

The village, like I'd expected, accepted my story without a word. It was possibly the most awkward hour of my life, standing in the square with Toothless and trying to explain. But, superstitious as we are, it seemed completely possible, and I had to wonder whether it was the work of the gods, or just Dumbledore.

Or a combination of both, which wouldn't surprise me at all.

The other teens, of course, moved quickly from the joy at my return to close cross-examination and questions about magic and the future.

Toothless was my sole confidant with most things, though – the only one I wanted to explain the complicated future of Vikings and dragons to, and the only one who I raged and reminisced and wondered about Hermione Granger with.

I rode on the back of a dragon instead of pining under the roof of a castle on the ground.

It took a while for all the memories to settle back into the places they belonged. The second-to-the-top stair almost gave me a heart attack on the first morning home; the wobbling sent me tumbling down the stairs while Toothless screeched. The way the bellows would hesitate then jump after the first two big heaves, which ended with me on the ground of the smithy again.

I spent a lot of my time falling, really, which wasn't much of a surprise to anyone.

Real winter came, and Toothless and I went from carefully feeling each other out to sleeping easily in the same room again, to flying farther and farther out, to goofing off in private, to curling up next to the fireplace and trying not to doze off, both of us finally confident I wasn't about to vanish.

Slowly, things started to go back to normal. The village came back to life, the mourning quiet turning to laughter and joking. My dad began to expect my presence in the house. Astrid stopped looking conflicted every time I mentioned something magic-related. Fishlegs eventually seemed to have asked his fill of questions.

And me? Well, Astrid eventually got over her no-joke ban. I stopped forgetting the little things and jumping at normal, everyday noises. I stopped being reluctant to venture out into the woods, alone or accompanied. I stopped, in short, worrying about Hogwarts at all. As I'd told Astrid as we looked for Toothless a lifetime ago, I was as fine as I needed to be. As fine as Toothless needed me to be, and after a while, it seemed like my time at Hogwarts had never even happened.

Even if it was in the future, it wasn't my future. It was my past, and except for that one month, my past, my present, and my future were on Berk, where my non-magic, Muggle, Viking, dragon-riding self belonged.

.

_This is Berk, boasting the kind of balmy, fun-in-the-sun climate that will give you frostbite on your spleen. The one upside is our annual holiday. We call it Snoggletog. Why we chose such a stupid name remains a mystery, but with the war long over and dragons living amongst us, this year's Snoggletog promises to be one to remember._

"Come on, let's see what you got today!"


	16. Epilogue

**It's over. **

**Over two years of my life, I've kept this in the back of my mind. Niggling, sometimes screaming, demanding completion. In the author note of the first chapter, I said (and I quote) "Believe me, I'm actually finishing this one." Well, doubters and supporters and people who read that first chapter, snorted in disgust (I'm amongst the latter group now; those beginning chapters, me from two years ago, are ****_painful_**** to look at), and discarded, I did it. I finished. It's done.**

**This is a compilation of a semi-full Moleskine notebook with a pocket of scraps of paper, this is the countless sheets around the house that I threw out, the first drafts, the ideas that I wrote years ago that came back, the chapter that I lost twice during computer troubles (for the curious, that was Chapter 14), the twenty-five documents ranging from "Dragon Keeper Ch6" to "dragon keeper ending final attempt" (there were about seven others), and the the 60,349-word document that sums it all up, officially long enough to be classified by NaNoWriMo as a "novel." **

**And, to my everlasting surprise and shock, every one of my reviews has been positive. Which is kind of unusual, in the cutthroat world of fanfiction writing. Whether you were congratulating me or begging for more or teaching me about the intricacies of time-travel or telling me how cruel I was to Hiccup or begging (again and again and again) to know what I'd done with Toothless...you guys have all been with me. ****And there are others, too, the ones I appreciate as well - the silent readers, the ones who have stuck with me just as faithfully, who stay up when they see a new chapter and try not to laugh at my jokes when reading it in the middle of class, who have never made contact with me. Because there are 59,721 of you, right now, as I post this last chapter.**** I credit you because, for countless stories, I am one of you, and in a lot of ways, I think I identify with you more than the reviewers! (But I love them too.) **

**So I guess this is a thank you. For staying with me. For supporting me through my mock-Hicmione, and my psychological torturing of Hiccup, and my assurances that Toothless is alive and he and Hiccup will see each other again. **

**And it's also a goodbye, in a way. To the old fandom. I started this in the very first throes of my obsession. I ignored it when I tried to fight the feelings that HTTYD was really too immature for me, when I struggled in "real life." The fandom that I found my place in, finally, and become close to many of you. This week, the second movie comes out. No matter what I do, my perspective will be changed. **

**So for the last time, I ask you to enjoy.**

**Enjoy!**

**And remember that Rose is eleven and her logic isn't great, and that no eleven-year-old witch, who writes with quill and ink and parchment, has access to spell-check or autocorrect. **

* * *

><p><em>Mummy,<em>

_I was Sorted into Gryfindor. Tell Daddy that. It's really late now though, so I'll write in a few days. It's so fun being with all my cousins finally! Fred and James were being really mean tonight, in front of all my new classmates though. I know most of them from you guys, but there are two Muggleborn girls this year and one boy. They all seem really nice, though. I can't wait for tomorrow! _

_Tell Daddy I love him. Oh, and I forgot. Albus says hi. Love, Rosie. _

_._

_Dear Mum: _

_I hate all the Gryffindor girls! They're so mean and all they want to do is talk about makeup and boys, but the boys don't even want to talk to them. And makeup is stupid. Albus made a new friend last night and we went to all our classes together. His name's Hayden or something, and he's really quiet. I think James scares him. I like my professors, though, and Neville smiled at me when I told him you give your love, but I think it's just because James didn't. _

_Night, Rosie._

_._

_Dear Mummy: _

_Albus spent all week with James! I was left by myself because Roxie and Dominique have too much homework and don't want me to talk to them. Hayden's really nice, though. Tell Daddy it's not LIKE that, we're just friends! We hardly even know each other! _

_._

_Today some of the older Slytherin girls were being mean to me, making my books and things fly all around, and I was crying, and Hayden went right up to them and told them off and they didn't even hurt him._

_I don't think anyone can even tell he's a Muggleborn anymore._

_._

_Mummy._

_I heard Victoire talking today about something she was studying in Muggle Studies last year, about Muggleborns having parents who beleived in magic, or something, and that's why there's so many more of them nowadays. Hayden says there must have been a someone like that in HIS ancestry! I wonder about your side of the family, Mum._

_Rosie. _

_._

_Mum_

_It snowed today. Hayden, Albus, and I went out to have a snowball fight. I got cold really quickly, and Albus started whining, but Hayden just laughed and said he has Viking blood. That's so cool! It's almost Halloween, too. I can't wait to see the decorations!_

_._

_Halloween was almost terrible! When we were going in, Aaron Goyle pushed Albus into one of those huge pumpkins and he fell and the candle caught his sleeve on fire and Hayden pushed him into the pumpkin juice. It totally saved his life, but Albus was really mad about it. He got burned and everything, though. Hayden said he'd have a cool scar, but when Madam Pomfrey healed it, it was just like before. I think I might love him._

_._

_I just can't wait for Christmas. I miss you so much! Even though I like Hogwarts, I can't wait to be home with you and Hugo. What's he doing, anyway? Is he hopelessly lonely without me? Is Lily? _

_._

_I'm sorry I haven't written much, school's been so BUSY! I'm all signed up to come home. See you on Tuesday!_

_._

"Mum. Hey! Mum!"

Hermione turns, noting the change from "Mummy" to "Mum," wondering when that happened, as Rose jumps eagerly down from the train, robes and hair flying as she races across the platform and launches herself into her parents' arms.

"How was school?" Hermione asks eagerly as Rose squeezes her hard around the waist. She's received dozens of letters from her daughter during the year, of course, but it's nothing to seeing her baby home for Christmas.

"It's wonderful!"

Hermione laughs, pulling away and transferring Rose to Ron for a daddy-daughter hug. "That's not what you've been telling us."

"But it is! It's hard to write everything in a letter, I'm always so _busy._"

"And you've grown, young lady," Hermione says, looking at the offending inch of ankle below the hem of her school robes. "We'll have to see about new clothes for Christmas."

Rose groans, dreams of toys and candy vanishing, and Ron interrupts, "And how's my girl? Gryffindor, right?" He's half joking and half serious, and Rose hugs him, muttering exasperatedly, "You _know_ that." She looks up into his face and grins. "Where's Hugo? I have _so much_ to tell him."

The question alerts Hermione to the disappearance of her son. Ever since James had caught Victoire and Teddy at it, Hugo and Lily had been going through a spy phase. No one can have a private conversation – that is, unless they block them out with magic, whether by "proper" methods or a trick or two of the Prince's. The children will never find out, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are confident. Harry isn't, though. Ever the conspiracy theorist – what makes him such a good Auror – he's convinced they're up to something. Hermione tries to refuse to consider the possibility that he's right.

Ron shrugs. "He's probably with Lily. Are you ready to go, Sweetheart?"

"No – wait-" Rose twists and almost falls in his arms, looking back at the train, and saying over her shoulder, "I want you to meet my friend – my best friend. Hey! Get out here, what are you still doing on the train? I _told _you I wanted you to meet my mum and dad!" She beckons impatiently, but she's smiling.

Hermione looks. A boy is standing in the doorway of the train, most likely the last person on it. He scans the crowd hopefully, then seems to sag slightly as he doesn't see whoever he's looking for.

Her heart turns over. He's so short, much, much shorter than he will be in a few years' time, if she has anything to go by. He sees her hand holding Rose's and smiles nervously, his two front teeth a little overlarge and titled endearingly in opposite directions.

Rose doesn't appear to notice a thing, still chattering wildly as the boy makes his cautious way through the dispersing crowd and stops hesitantly beside her. "This is Hayden, Mum, Dad. Hayden Haddock – he's a Muggleborn, I told you all about him; I've never even _heard_ of that surname – he says it's Norwegian, so I don't think you'd know his parents-"

Ron shoots her a look, and Hermione chooses inelegantly to ignore it. She smiles at the boy as he tentatively looks around at these people – parents to Rose, and most likely already celebrities to him – and Hayden grins shyly back. "Oh, I think I might know one of your ancestors, actually."

His eyes widen, and Hermione wants to laugh. "Where are your parents, Honey?"

With that, Hayden deflates. "Um, not here, obviously. Mum lives in – uh, I'm not sure. Right now. Dad's up in Glasgow for business, and they said my uncle – well, he's not really my uncle, but he's their best friend – would be here to pick me up for the holidays, but…" He sighs. "I don't see him. He probably forgot again."

Reaching out her other hand, Hermione draws him toward her, rubbing his back. He stiffens at first, then seems to realize it's all right and relaxes somewhat. She wonders what type of mother he has, that she's moving so often he doesn't have her whereabouts, and that he's not used to physical affection. "Don't worry, we'll find him. Maybe you could call? Or-" Hermione turns to Ron, daring him overtop Hayden's head. He wanders off to find Hugo. "You'd be more than welcome to stay with us for Christmas."

"Really?" He looks for permission from Rose, who beams, and Hermione knows she's seconds from jumping up and down. "That's so great! Thank you _so much._" He pauses, then asks her skeptically, "And…did you really know an _ancestor_ of mine? How is that _possible_?"

"He's still learning about magic," Rose confides in a too-loud whisper to her mother. "He's always surprised."

Hermione can't keep it in this time and lets herself giggle. "Magic," she whispers to him, and as she leads her daughter and _Hayden_ out of Platform Nine and Three Quarters and into King's Cross Station, she starts.

"A long time ago, before Hogwarts was founded, when England was unformed and times were dangerous, lived a little Viking boy _about_ your age, named Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third…"

.


End file.
